


I can't escape the way (I love you)

by noos



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Flashback Heavy, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, omar goes to new york, the convo when ander admits he was lying about cheating never happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 86,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/pseuds/noos
Summary: Two weeks after his 18th birthday, Omar hops on a plane with his sister, his friend and his sister’s ex-fiancé, and trades Madrid for New York.orAnder never tells Omar he was lying about Alexís. Omar goes to New York.
Relationships: Ander Muñoz/Omar Shana, Guzmán Nunier Osuna/Nadia Shana, I don't even ship samurebe idk how they ended up there, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Rebeca "Rebe" de Bormujo Ávalos/Samuel García Domínguez
Comments: 229
Kudos: 417





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go. 
> 
> This is my first fic for this ship. Been working on this for over half a year and I'm so sick of looking at it, so here, have it.
> 
> I've written the whole thing, so updates will be fairly quick, just some minor tweaking before I post.
> 
> Italics are flashbacks.
> 
> Fair warning, the story is from Omar's pov which means that for the first few chapters, Ander appears almost exclusively through flashbacks. He's a major presence in Omar's life throughout though, so stick with it :)
> 
> Title from the Billie Eilish song because I'm that kind of trash. And English is still not my first language so go easy on me.

Three weeks before his 18th birthday, Omar gets his heart broken for the first time.

* * *

It’s ridiculous, really, that that’s what he remembers the most about that night.

It was the night that his sister graduated, and the night that Polo was killed, and the night that Omar became an accessory to murder by helping cover up a crime.

It was also the night he really became part of a family.

But every time Omar thinks about that night, and he thinks about that night _a lot_ , the first thing that comes to mind is Ander, and his eyes as he said his final goodbye to Omar, and the way it felt to be in his arms for one last time.

He also remembers after, when he was pleading with Ander not to confess to a crime he didn’t commit. And how Ander only stuck by Guzmán after the interrogation, far away from Omar, barely talking to anyone. And how he had looked at Omar from his perch on the steps outside the club, his eyes hard with emotion, the way only Ander could be. 

It was only when he was on his way back home that Omar realized that that might’ve been the last time he would be seeing him. That he and Ander were well and truly over. 

It’s funny how he remembers hearing his heart break in that moment, the echo shattering unbearably loud in the back of Malick’s car.

There are a lot of things Omar remembers about that night and even more things he doesn’t, but the one thing he knows for sure is that it was the night he made the decision to leave his ghosts behind.

* * *

Two weeks after his 18th birthday, Omar hops on a plane with his sister, his friend and his sister’s ex-fiancé, and trades Madrid for New York. 


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being without Ander _sucks_.

When he lands at JFK, he opens his phone to find a message from Guzmán. 

_The Chemo worked. He’s in remission._

Omar stands frozen in place, eyes glazed and breath coming out harsh and laboured. He should be with Ander, kissing him and holding him and celebrating with him. But he can’t do that. He can never do that again. Omar is halfway across the world and Ander is happy in someone else’s arms.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, but eventually Nadia and Lu, having both probably received identical messages, walk over to flank him on either side and gently lead him forward.

* * *

Malick’s apartment is on the Upper East Side, a perfectly polished penthouse with windows that overlook Central Park and MoMA.

Omar doesn’t unpack his suitcase.

* * *

_Samuel picks up on the third ring._

_“Why are you calling?” He says in way of greeting on the other end of the line. “You never call. You text or you WhatsApp or you send me rude voice notes but you nev—“_

_“I need a place to crash tonight,” Omar interrupts, unable to take the banter and the teasing right now. “Is it okay if I stay at yours?”_

_“Yeah, of course,” Samuel replies without hesitation, his voice sobering up. Omar has never been so grateful for Samuel’s ability to read him so implicitly, even over the phone. “Are you okay? Is Ander okay? Did something happen to him?”_

_Even with the fact that Ander just ended things with him, Omar can’t help but feel his chest tighten uncomfortably at the idea of something happening to Ander._

_He drops the shirts he’s holding into his duffel, his eyes stinging with tears he refuses to shed. He looks around the room, trying to find something to distract him from the pain in his chest, to no avail. Their pictures are littered everywhere around the room; on Ander’s cork board, on his bookcase, on his bedside table. The memories are everywhere._

_Omar sinks to the floor of Ander’s room slowly, sitting against his bed and closing his eyes as he finally allows his tears to come freely._

_“Omar?” Samuel says in his ear, his voice now tinged with a hint of panic._

_He’d almost forgotten Samuel was still on the phone._

_“Ander’s okay,” Omar reassures, his voice breaking as he says his name. “He’s, um, seeing—we, uh. We broke up,” he manages. He hates the way he chokes out a sob right after, hates the way his pitiful heart continues to ache in his chest. “He said I could stay tonight, but I don’t want to. I need to get out of here.”_

_“What happened?” Samuel asks, his voice a mixture of surprise and disbelief. Before Omar can say anything, Samuel continues. “Omar, of course,” he tells him, and Omar can practically feel him nodding frantically over the phone. “Of course, you can stay here,” he reassures, seemingly deciding the details can wait. “Do you need me to come and pick you up?”_

_Despite his breaking heart and the ache overtaking his whole body, Omar feels a delirious chuckle bubble up his chest. “You don’t own a car, Samu.”_

_“I know, but you don’t sound like you’re in a state to be alone. I can ride to Ander’s place and we get back together.”_

_Omar feels a fresh batch of tears make their way down his cheeks even as he smiles. He’s so thankful for Samuel in that moment._

_“It’s okay,” he tells him. “I’ll be over at your place soon. I don’t think I packed everything but I’ll come back for the rest when Ander’s not here.”_

_Samuel sighs in defeat. “Okay. I’ll order us some pizza.”_

_“I’m not hungry.”_

_“I’m hungry and you’ll need to eat,” Samuel argues. “I’ll see you in a bit.”_

_Omar shuts his eyes tightly, sniffling as he tries to calm himself down. “Thanks, Samu.”_

_“Don’t mention it,” his friend mumbles dismissively._

_“I’ll be over there soon,” Omar promises before he clicks the line shut._

_He takes a few more breaths to calm himself down, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands before pushing himself off the floor._

_He zips up his duffel, in no state to find everything he owns right now. Lucky for him, his bag was pretty much already packed. The truth is, part of him always knew this living arrangement wouldn’t be permanent. It was too good to be true. So he always waited for the moment Ander would tell him to move out, ready for the day someone else he cares about threw him out the door. He’d come so close to leaving so many times before, too, but never went through with it. And now here he was, the moment he always knew would come finally here, and he just didn’t know what to do. It feels a lot more like a nightmare than he anticipated._

_He throws his duffel on his shoulder, ready to leave the room, when the Polaroids on the bedside table catch his eye again. He pauses for a long time, battling with himself and wondering whether or not he should take any of them._

_There’s one in particular that he loves, a picture that he took of Ander while they were having a very lazy morning in bed months ago. He remembers it was a Saturday and Azucena texted Ander to tell him she was going out for most of the day, so Omar and Ander stayed in bed all day, alternating between kissing, listening to music, fucking, stalking their friends on Instagram and taking dumb pictures together._

_Omar’s favourite picture is of a smiling Ander wearing one of Omar’s old shirts, dimples denting his cheeks and curls falling into his eyes as he reaches for the camera._

_The same Ander who just fucking broke up with him._

_Omar swallows thickly, reaching for the picture and stuffing in blindly into his duffel before he turns to leave the room, frustrated at his own weakness._

_He takes the stairs two at a time, careful not to make too much noise, but he can’t make it out the door yet. He drops his duffel bag by the entrance instead, allowing himself another moment of weakness and walking over to Ander’s makeshift room._

_Ander hasn’t moved from the position Omar left him in, his back turned to him as he lies on his side. Despite looking frail, his breathing is even, like he’s deep in sleep, and Omar feels another blinding pain in his chest._

_How can Ander sleep so peacefully when Omar feels like his entire world is crashing around him?_

_He shakes his head harshly, angry with himself for even thinking that. But that just goes to show what kind of selfish asshole he is; Ander is sick and dying and exhausted from the Chemo and Omar is upset with him because he’s sleeping. Maybe he deserves to be broken up with._

_He walks over to him, careful not to make any noise. Part of Omar - or all of Omar, if he’s being honest - hopes that Ander will wake up and turn to him right now, and tell him that it was all a lie, a mistake, that he loves him and never wants to be apart from him._

_But Ander doesn’t move, no matter how hard Omar wishes._

_Omar finally reaches out, unable to stop himself, wrapping his fingers lightly around Ander’s ankle._

_Even through the cotton of his pants, he can tell he’s cold._

_Despite his shattered heart, Omar reaches for the blanket on the nearby bench and throws it over Ander, carefully covering his body._

_Ander shivers lightly before tugging the blanket close, his breathing evening out again._

_It takes Omar another few minutes to finally get his feet moving, but he finally takes one last look at Ander before leaving one more home behind._

* * *

Here’s the thing: it doesn’t matter that Ander hurt him. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t want him, or that he’s with someone else, or that he broke Omar’s heart.

Being without Ander _sucks_.

Whatever Omar thought he felt for Malick when they were back home, he now knows it was nothing. 

It’s kind of unfair and it makes him feel like shit, but he can’t stand to look at him, irrationally blaming him for breaking him and Ander up. Malick might’ve played a small part in their demise, but Omar and Ander had been self-sabotaging long before Malick showed up. 

Point is, by the end of the first week, Omar can’t even stand to look at Malick, let alone live with him. 

* * *

“You know I’m not a violent person, Nadia. Like, yes, I talk a lot of shit to people, but I don’t throw hands. But I might make an exception this time. If she says one more fucking offensive thing, I will have no choice but to punch her.”

Omar raises his eyebrows at Lu as he finally finds their table, overhearing the last bit of her conversation with his sister.

Lu jumps up when she sees him, throwing her arms outlandishly around him and giving him a peck on the lips. Nadia’s greeting is tamer in comparison, her hug softer but tighter, the affection evident in the way she brushes his cheek lightly before sitting back down. 

“Sorry, I’m late,” he mumbles, taking off his jacket and throwing it over the back of the chair as he looks around the small pizza joint, “took me a while to find this place.”

“It’s fine,” Nadia dismisses, waving her hand around vaguely. “We already ordered for you.”

Omar shrugs. “It’s pizza, you can’t go wrong.” He reaches for a breadstick and takes a bite. “So, who are we punching?” 

Lu groans exaggeratedly, rolling her eyes so hard Omar worries for they’ll get stuck that way.

“This bitch in our housing unit,” she replies with all the subtlety Lu possesses. “She’s driving me insaaaaaane.” She takes a deep breath, pressing one palm dramatically to her forehead. “And this is not a Rebe situation where I think she’s vulgar af and her wardrobe needs to be set on fire but would secretly take a bullet for her,” she adds in one breath, causing Omar and Nadia to smile at the backhanded admission. “No. This is one bitch I really don’t want around.”

As much as he loves Lu, Omar knows she’s not the most reliable judge of character. She chews most people out even before she gets to know them, automatically bringing out the worst in them. It’s one of her less endearing traits, Omar thinks.

So he turns to look at his sister for confirmation, the silent question on his face. 

Nadia sighs, deflating a little.

“She’s really horrible,” Nadia admits. And that’s all that Omar needs, really. Much like Lu, Nadia is also quick to judge. Unlike Lu, however, she doesn’t provoke people she doesn’t like, and she’s never vocal about her distaste unless it boils over. “She has no sense of boundaries, talks to us like we work for her and is racist, homophobic and just plain unpleasant.” 

“She told Nadia she’s, and I quote, ‘so pretty for an Arab’,” Lu jumps in before Nadia can continue, scoffing loudly. “Like, what the fuck does that even mean? And she thought Nadia was my maid or something like that and then when she found out I’m part-Mexican she assumed my Chanel purse is a fake!”

Omar watches Lu in amusement, raising an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t you repeatedly imply my sister was a terrorist when she first started going to Las Encinas?”

Nadia shoots him an equally amused look as she chews on her breadstick. 

“Yes, but that was because I was an asshole, not an ignorant, and I have since seen the error of my ways,” Lu dismisses, waving her hand vaguely before she narrows her eyes at Omar. “And anyway, whose side are you on?”

Omar chuckles, raising his hands defensively in the air. 

“Yours, always,” he reassures. Lu settles back but doesn’t look away. “She sounds like a nightmare.”

“She is.”

“So why don’t you ask to be moved to another unit?”

Nadia shakes her head. “The other units in the complex are all full, and every other dorm is either too expensive or too far.”

Omar reaches for another breadstick, contemplating whether or not to suggest what’s on his mind.

Lu and Nadia are in New York to study, so he doesn’t want to be burden to them or stand in their way. But he also really wants to move out of Malick’s place as soon as possible.

He takes a deep breath. “Does the scholarship cover only student housing or can you look for an apartment?”

“We can live wherever we want, we just have to stick to the budget,” Lu tells him, groaning again. “Being poor sucks.”

Omar raises his eyebrows, eyeing Lu’s very expensive watch, her designer dress and the jewels around her neck, but otherwise doesn’t say anything. 

Nadia meets Omar’s eyes, a small, subtle smile playing on her lips, and Omar knows she’s right there with him.

“You get used to it,” Nadia tells Lu eventually, trying to appease her friend. “But apartments _are_ expensive.”

“Not if you have a third roommate,” Omar chimes in, finally getting to his point.

Lu’s eyebrows push together with mild confusion. “Honey, where would we even get a thir—“

“You want to move out of Malick’s place,” Nadia interrupts, realization colouring her features as she settles back, crossing her arms in front of her. 

Omar shrugs, chewing on his finger. One of his worse habits, that one.

A vague memory of Ander reaching out to take Omar’s hand in his swims to the front of Omar’s thoughts. It was a thing he did whenever Omar was chewing nervously on his nails, to keep him from drawing blood. He’d reach out and lock their fingers together, finding ways to distract Omar from whatever was stressing him enough to attack his nails.

His heart aches but he shakes the memory away and drops his hand from his mouth. The pain in his chest lingers.

“That was always the plan.”

Lu throws her hands in the air exasperatedly, catching his attention. “Are you kidding me? Omar, _cariño_ , you’re living in a fucking penthouse!”

Omar shakes his head. “I can’t stay there.”

He doesn’t care if it’s the fucking Taj Mahal, he wants out.

“Omar—“

“I can’t look at him,” he interrupts before Nadia can say anything more, his tone harsher than he intends, breathing a little laboured. He swallows thickly, trying to calm himself. “Every time I so much as glance his way, I think of what I did to my boyfriend.” He winces. “My ex-boyfriend,” he amends, a fresh wave of pain washing over him. “I look at him and I think of Ander and I’m tired of thinking of Ander.” 

Truthfully, he’s not sure he’ll ever stop thinking of Ander. But he knows that living with Malick isn’t something he wants now or in the future. 

He feels Nadia and Lu’s sympathetic eyes on him, but is saved from having to say anything else when the waiter arrives with their food.

Omar is glad for the distraction, serving himself a big slice of pepperoni pizza and taking a bite.

They chew in silence for a few moments before Nadia speaks out.

“You’ll have to find a job,” she tells him before taking another bite from her veggie slice.

Omar smiles. “Already on that. I have some money saved up from working at the club in Madrid, which should cover me for a few months, and I’m already looking for bartending gigs here,” he explains. “I just need to figure out where I’m gonna be staying, because I’ll save up plenty on commute if I look for something in the same area.”

“Brooklyn has cheap rent,” Lu chimes in. “Well, cheaper rent than Manhattan anyway. Nothing has cheap rent around here.”

Nadia raises her eyebrows in surprise. “ _You_ want to live in Brooklyn?”

Lu shakes her head. “No.” She pauses, grabbing a fallen pepperoni off her plate and delicately shoving it in her mouth. “But I also didn’t want this scholarship. And then I didn’t want to be sharing it with you. And I definitely didn’t want to be living in cheap student housing and having cheap pizza right now. Even though it’s really good pizza,” she admits as an afterthought. “Point is, it’s a whole new world, so you know. Let’s look for a place in Brooklyn.”

Omar feels hope swell in his chest, suddenly growing very excited. “It’s not too far for you guys, though?” 

Nadia shrugs. “Las Encinas was farther for me.”

“It’s only, like, 15 minutes farther than where we live right now,” Lu dismisses. “And if an extra 15 minutes of commute means I don’t have to live with Satan’s offspring, then yes. I’m in.”

Omar barks a laugh, unable to hide his excitement.

* * *

Finding an apartment turns out to be much easier than they expect. 

It’s only the third one they check out, but they all immediately fall in love. It’s right within their budget, has three bedrooms - okay, two bedrooms and a pull-out couch in the living room - and is only on the third floor. Most importantly, it’s only 48 minutes away from Columbia and has a fire escape exactly like all those movies set in New York. 

Omar wants to sign the lease right away but Lu orders him and Nadia to shut up and leave things to her. 

She manages to drop the asking price by nearly half and convinces the landlord to replace the old fridge with a new, bigger one.

* * *

Finding a job is even easier.

He doesn’t know if things are always that easy in real life or if it’s just his luck, but Omar finds a pub looking for a new bartender to start as soon as possible, located only three blocks from his new place.

The pay’s not great but it’s enough to cover his rent and expenses and with tips, he might be able to save up just a tiny bit. 

His favourite thing about the pub is the owner, Fae, a very loud and permanently pissed off woman in her late 20s, with a head of close-cut curls and a collection of really impressive sneakers. She never shies away from ribbing Omar about his endless collection of hideous floral shirts and essentially roasts everyone and anyone who steps into the pub.

Most importantly, she reminds Omar of Rebeka, which is never a bad thing.

* * *

New York is both exactly and nothing like Omar imagines. It’s easy and fun and so loud all the time.

Omar can be who he wants to be and dress how he wants to dress and love who he wants to love.

He loves his sister, and he loves Lu, and he doesn’t allow anyone else into his heart. 

He texts Rebeka, and calls Samuel, and video calls Guzmán with Nadia and Lu, and his palms ache every time they mention Ander. 

* * *

Omar’s randomly going through Instagram stories on his feed one day when his heart starts racing hard and fast in his chest. 

Ander has posted for the first time in weeks. He never used to like posting much, Omar remembers, except when they were together.

And the truth is, he hadn’t really posted anything in so long, Omar forgot he was still following him. 

But here he was, Ander in all his glory, looking healthier than he remembers him, hair just a tiny bit longer and gathered in the middle of his forehead, signature earring in place and the collar of his Las Encinas uniform popped the way he liked it.

The first slide is a boomerang of him, Rebeka, Guzmán and Samuel, all rolling their eyes in unison. The second is a picture of Guzmán with a sticker that says “mom friend”, and the third is a shared post from Ander’s feed.

Omar clicks on the link and is directed to the post on Ander’s page, a picture of Ander sitting down on what Omar recognizes as the wooden tables near the tennis courts, looking up from his food with a small lopsided smile on his face. The picture is simply captioned with the word _Restart_. 

Omar stares at the picture for a long time, taking in every little detail until he thinks he’s memorized the exact way Ander’s lips curve on one side, the slight flush on his cheeks, and the way his hair is just a little bit thicker in the middle.

“Daaaaamn,” someone drawls into his ear, and Omar snaps out of his trance to notice Fae peaking over his shoulder. She drops the case of beer she’s carrying onto the floor before straightening up and snatching the phone from Omar’s hand. “If all the white boys looked like this here, I might maybe not be so wholeheartedly turned off by them.”

Omar barks a laugh, feeling his face flush. His mind drifts to that day he was perched on the counter at the shop, Rebeka propped up next to him as she looked at pictures of Ander on his phone, practically caressing the screen as she admitted she would’ve definitely gone for it if he wasn’t Omar’s boyfriend.

He watches Fae zoom in with fascination, whistling under her breath. Yeah, that definitely is the Ander effect.

“Hate to break it to you, but it won’t help,” Omar tells her after a moment, shaking himself out of his thoughts and trying to keep his emotions from eating him up. Fae looks up curiously, and Omar shrugs. “He likes dick too much.”

Fae laughs lightly, handing the phone back to Omar. “All the good ones do.” She doesn’t take her eyes off Omar as she starts emptying the beer bottles into the fridge. “‘He your boyfriend, then?”

Omar clicks the phone shut without liking the picture, stuffing it into his back pocket. He crouches on the floor next to the cases of beer, taking out some bottles and helping Fae stack them. 

He swallows thickly and tries to keep his tone casual. “Not anymore.”

“So he’s the reason you’re so grumpy all the time, then,” she tells him. “Or is that just because you’ve run out of hideously patterned shirts?” Omar chuckles, stuffing the last of the beer into the fridge. “Not that I don’t appreciate your cloudy disposition,” Fae adds after a moment. “It keeps all the frat boys away.”

“You have no room judging frat boys,” Omar argues, nodding his head vaguely in the direction of the backroom where he knows Chris is. Chris, the other bartender who works at the pub, is a hulking specimen of a human, complete with flowing blond hair, blue eyes, a chiselled jaw and a six-pack. “You literally hired an Abercrombie model.”

Fae shrugs her shoulders, handing Omar some shot glasses from the drying rack. “Diversity hire,” she tells him. “A black lesbian owner and a Middle-Eastern gay bartender? We needed some good ol’ straight white male energy to complete the set.”

Omar grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“I wouldn’t put money on the straight part,” he comments casually, enjoying the way Fae’s eyes widen at the insinuation. 

“No!” She covers her mouth with her hands in a scandalized manner. “Did he…?”

“Not yet,” Omar reassures. “But he does give me a vibe.” He cocks his head to the side, clicking his tongue. “Still an Abercrombie model, though.”

Fae shrugs, bending down to wipe some invisible stain off her Air Jordans. “Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.”

“The greater good being...?”

“Cat’s vagina,” Fae answers immediately, wagging her eyebrows as she looks up at Omar, earning another laugh out of him. “Had to hire her cousin if I wanted to keep getting it.”

Omar scoffs. 

“Nepotism,” he mutters, his smile growing wider when Fae shoots him the middle finger before she fills two shot glasses with tequila. Omar slices two pieces of lemon, dipping them in salt and handing one to Fae before taking the offered shot from her hand. He holds up his drink before him, thoughtful. “I was grumpy long before Ander,” he tells her after a moment. “I will be grumpy long after him.”

Fae clicks her shot with Omar’s. “Cheers to that.”

As Omar downs his drink and bites into his slice of lemon, he tries not to think about the fact that Ander changed his profile picture.

* * *

_It happens on a random Sunday afternoon._

_They’re sprawled lazily in Ander’s backyard, lying side by side on the lawn as Omar tries to make sense of his math homework while Ander tinkers with his phone, when Ander elbows Omar in his ribs._

_“Ouch!” Omar objects a little too dramatically, rubbing his side as he turns to look at Ander. “What was that for?”_

_Ander only grins, nodding his head upwards. Omar follows his line of sight to find Ander holding his phone over them with the front camera open, half of his head visible in the frame. He drops his book onto his stomach, scooting closer until his shoulder is almost propped up on top of Ander’s, both of their heads now visible on screen._

_Ander snaps a bunch of selfies before going through the pictures. “I like this one.”_

_Omar nods approvingly at Ander’s choice. He doesn’t particularly like the way his hair looks right now, but he’s not about to complain._

_He throws his textbook to the side altogether, tired of numbers and tangents and theorems he will probably never understand. He turns until he’s lying on his side, reaching out a hand to run through Ander’s curls. Ander leans into Omar’s touch immediately but otherwise doesn’t take his eyes off the screen._

_“Since when do you like to take selfies?”_

_Ander huffs lightly, features melting into a smile._ _“I don’t.” His eyes are glued to his screen as he bites his bottom lip in concentration. “There,” he adds after a moment, showing Omar his phone. “You wouldn’t let me change it before, but now that you’re living here and everyone knows, I wanted to update my Instagram profile pic.”_

_Omar drops his hand from Ander’s hair, his lips spreading into a wide smile._

_“You barely use Instagram,” he tries to object, but he can’t contain the small, happy laugh that bubbles up his chest. Ander shrugs, reaching out to grab Omar’s hand and guide it back to his head. Omar looks affectionately at his boyfriend as he starts running his fingers through Ander’s hair again, his heart acting all funny when Ander leans further into his touch and presses a small kiss to his wrist. Omar grins. “You’re secretly a sappy little shit, aren’t you?”_

_Ander shrugs again, dropping his phone to the side and reaching his arm across his chest to pull Omar by the waist of his shorts, laying his palm firmly on Omar’s hip and closing his eyes peacefully._

_“I’m whatever you want me to be. Just don’t stop what you’re doing right now.”_

_Omar leans over and presses a small kiss to the tattoo on Ander’s collarbone. Though his eyes remain closed, Ander’s lips curl up in a small, contented smile._

_Omar really fucking loves him._

* * *

Despite trying to break free from it for most of his life, Omar misses his parents’ shop more than he cares to admit. 

Mostly, he misses seeing Ander coming through the window, hiding around the corner and waiting for him to sneak out so they can make out in some forgotten alleyway for 10 minutes. 

Mostly, he misses Ander.

* * *

Omar doesn’t allow anyone into his heart, but he sure lets them into his pants. 

It turns out, he’s absolutely right about Chris being not so straight after all. Omar likes him well enough but knows he would never be friends with him under other circumstances. They have very little in common and like very few of the same things, but that’s what Omar likes most about Chris. He’s safe, with no real potential to form any sort of emotional attachment.

And anyway, they do have one big thing in common: Neither of them is looking for anything serious, so it’s easy for them to settle for quickies in the bathroom before the start of their shift, cigarette breaks in the back alleyway to suck each other off, and even the occasional quick fuck in Chris’ apartment after work. 

* * *

Even though Omar Knows Lu and Nadia keep in touch with Ander, they’re both good at never talking about him.

But.

Despite the distance and the time and the space; despite living in different cities and in different countries and on different continents; despite not having talked to or seen him since that night at the club; despite hooking up with other people and going on with his life; despite _everything_ , Ander is a permanent fixture on Omar’s mind. 

* * *

He’s been in New York 10 months to the day when he gets Guzmán‘s message. 

_Doctors say he’s on his way to officially cancer-free in record time._

When he walks into Nadia’s room with tears in his eyes that night, his sister puts down her textbook and wordlessly pulls Omar by the hand and over to her bed. She tucks him in under the covers like she used to when they were little and he got in trouble with their dad. She kisses his forehead before she sits down on the bed next to him, pulling Omar’s head into her lap and running her fingers softly through his hair as he cries himself to sleep. 


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s almost embarrassed to call Guzmán a friend. But he’s nice.

When he was young and trapped in a life he didn’t want, Omar used to doodle small comic strips to escape reality. 

They were mostly of a small, brown boy who liked to listen to music and read books and watch movies, but always somehow found himself fighting off the bad guy.

He didn’t think much of them, hiding them in the back of his drawer, until May and Nadia caught him doodling one once, and immediately started gushing about how good it was.

He started drawing small strips for them after that, illustrating the adventures of the three siblings as they travelled the world together and occasionally defeated a super villain.

He kept his original character to himself, only coming back to him when he was on his own.

And as Omar grew, so did the boy. By the time Omar was 11, the boy was destroying super villains left and right. By the time he was 13, the boy was getting high in his superhero lair. By the time he was 14, the boy was saving other boys from monsters and then kissing those boys. A lot.

When May left, he stopped drawing.

But then Omar fell in love with a boy he didn’t want to fall in love with, and found himself doodling a curly-haired sidekick who liked to kiss the small, brown boy back. 

Later, he would get kicked out of his house and his boyfriend would get sick, and the monsters they fought in his drawings would look less like big, scary creatures and more like evil little viruses and poisonous molecules, and even though they would hurt them a lot, the two boys would win the fight every time.

* * *

They’re on their way to lunch one day when Nadia notices a small ad for a cheap art class on the notice board of their building. 

“You should do this,” she tells Omar, pointing at the homemade paper. Omar raises his eyebrows. “You should,” she insists. “You keep telling me you want to find something to do other than the pub and you were always good at drawing.” 

Omar doesn’t say anything but he saves the number into his phone. 

* * *

“Guzmán‘s coming.”

Omar looks up from his sketch pad to see his sister climbing out of the kitchen window to join him and Lu on the fire escape. 

“Nadia, _por favor_ , Omar and I don’t need to know what you and my ex get up to when you’re FaceTiming,” Lu complains dramatically, pushing her glasses down her nose.

In true Lu fashion, she’s currently perched on a folding chair in a tiny white bikini and layers of gold necklaces around her neck, sunbathing on the fire escape. Omar is sitting on the floor next to her with his back against the railing, a small joint dangling from his lips as he illustrates a short strip for his art class.

Nadia sticks her tongue out at Lu, ruffling her hair and causing Lu to gasp loudly and swat Nadia’s hands away furiously, a fully offended look gracing her features.

“He’s coming to _New York_.”

“Not the hair, Nadia,” Lu admonishes, completely ignoring Nadia’s words and checking her reflection on her phone to aggressively fix her hair. “You know that’s my best feature.” 

Omar snorts as takes another puff from his joint. He looks at his sister. “When?” 

Nadia’s face melts into a wide smile, unable to contain her excitement any longer. 

“In two months,” she tells him. “Right after graduation.”

Nadia’s phone rings again before she can say anything else and she jumps back into the kitchen to presumably finish her conversation with Guzmán. 

Omar peers up from his sketch pad at Lu, taking her in.

She’s lying perfectly still on her makeshift tanning chair, lips pursed and eyes closed under her big glasses.

“Omar, I love you to death, but if you keep staring at me this way, I’m gonna throw you off this fire escape,” she threatens, not even bothering to open her eyes. 

Omar can’t keep the laughter that bubbles through, always so easily amused by Lu. He sobers up after a moment, blowing out some smoke ringlets before he drops his pad on the floor next to him.

“Are you okay with Guzmán coming?” He keeps his voice low so it doesn’t carry inside. Lu finally opens her eyes at the question, turning her head slightly to look at Omar. “You’re okay with him being here and him and Nadia being together?”

“Yes,” she tells him quickly, reaching her hand for the joint. She doesn’t smoke often - in fact, one of her only rules for living together was that Omar could only smoke his cigarettes and joints and whatever else poison he chose to inhale into his lungs outside on the fire escape - but every once in a while, when Omar will roll himself one, she’ll sneak a few puffs in. She inhales carefully, waiting for a few seconds before releasing the smoke and taking another puff. She winces the second time, dragging a little harder before she hands him back the joint. “Guzmán and I weren’t right for each other,” she shrugs.

Omar eyes her curiously. “How so?”

She straightens up, taking off her glasses to look at him. 

“We were never on the same page.” She sighs, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “When we first got together, I wanted a relationship. But Guzmán, he just wanted a good time. So I told him we could do it, no strings attached, even though it hurt me.” She closes her eyes for another moment, seemingly lost in the memories behind her lids. “I always put him first, but I was always an afterthought to him.” Despite the harsh words, her voice is calm, collected. But it’s still enough for Omar to feel a stabbing pain in his chest, her words hitting a little too close to home. ”I know he loved me in his own stupid way, but we weren’t right together. With Nadia, they’re on the same page.”

Omar looks down at this hands, wringing his fingers together in his lap. 

“Ander and I were never on the same page,” he mumbles, the confession burning his throat as it comes out.

He can feel Lu’s sympathetic gaze on him, can see her get off her chair from his peripheral vision and throw the seat cushion on the floor before she sits down next to Omar. 

“Hey,” she says softly, cupping his chin and turning his head so he can look at her. “You can’t compare what Guzmán and I had to what you and Ander had. Guzmán and I knew each other for years. We were _shit_ to each other for _years_. Even though we had other options. You and Ander were driven apart by insane circumstances, Omar.”

“But I _chose_ to cheat on him,” Omar argues weakly. “He _chose_ to be with someone else.”

Lu shakes her head.

“He was sick, Omar. You got kicked out of your house, he was dealing with the mother of all illnesses, you moved in together only a few months after getting together. You were both just 17 and you had to let everything go to be by his side. And he had to live with the knowledge that you were throwing your life away because of him and there was nothing he could do about it.”

“So you’re saying we didn’t really have a choice in the end.”

“No, you did.” Omar looks at her, slightly confused. “There’s always a choice, Omar,” she explains. “But you didn’t have any room to breathe, let alone make a good one. Sometimes, we gotta make a bunch of stupid choices before we make the right one.”

“And you think Nadia and Guzmán are doing the right one now?”

Lu nods solemnly. “They’re choosing to fight for each other, despite the shit circumstances they went through. I can’t resent them for that. I care too much about them to even think about it now, but there was a time when I did.” She pauses for a few seconds before her face grows thoughtful. “See? Even I had to make dumb choices to get to the right one.”

Omar nods lightly, Lu’s words floating through his mind.

He can’t help but wonder if he and Ander fought hard enough for each other.

* * *

_As he hugged his father in the middle of the crowded airport, his heart racing with acceptance and his whole body warm with love, Omar couldn’t help but wonder if he was making the right choice._

_Maybe he shouldn’t go._

_Yes, he’s always wanted to travel and discover the world, and yes, the stars seemed to be aligning right now. But then, why would his father tell him this right now? Why would his father show him the acceptance he so craved now of all times?_

_Yes, he’s always wanted to travel and discover the world, but he had time to do that later. Maybe he should just blow it all off and go and find Ander and tell him that he doesn’t care how much he pushes him away, that he’s the most important person in his life and that he loves him._

_Except that he’s not the most important person in Ander’s life, the small voice in the back of his mind reminds him._

_And that was the crux of the problem, really. No matter how many times Omar wanted to go to Ander; no matter how much he wanted to walk over to him during graduation, or how much he wanted to apologize for cheating on him, or how much he wanted to kiss him at the club; no matter how desperately he wanted Ander to ask him to stay, or how much he wanted to comfort him... he couldn’t. Ander didn’t want it. Ander didn’t want_ him _. He wanted someone else - he HAD someone else._

_And that settled it._

_So Omar pushes the idea to the back of his mind where it belongs, hugging his father and mother tightly, smiling when they officially welcome Lu into the family, kissing them both goodbye, and then walking towards the gate with his sister, his friend and a relative stranger, leaving the most important person in his life behind._

* * *

Omar shakes himself out of his thoughts, stubbing the joint into the ashtray and wrapping his arm around Lu’s shoulder. “You’re a good person, Lucrecia Montesinos. You make really shit choices,” he adds, raising his eyebrows teasingly and earning himself a punch in the side, “but you’re good.” 

Lu quiets down next to him, settling into his side and breathing deeply as she looks down at her lap for a brief moment.

She looks back up at him, smile intact on her face. “Yeah, just don’t tell anyone.”

* * *

That night, an idea creeps into Omar’s head just as he’s falling asleep, filling him with a strange sense of hope and anticipation. 

It’s the stupidest thing, really, but as he thinks about Guzmán coming to visit in a few months, he imagines Ander coming with him to surprise him.

It’s absolutely one of his more ridiculous ideas, he’s aware, and he’s setting himself up for a monumental disappointment, but try as he might, he can’t shake the thought away. 

He doesn’t tell Nadia or Lu, of course. He tries to convince himself it’s only because Guzmán and Ander are so intricately linked in his mind, tries to fuck it out of his system by hooking up with as many guys as he can, tries to remind himself that he and Ander haven’t had any form of contact - significant or otherwise - in almost a year.

But it doesn’t matter. The minute he thinks about Guzmán at the airport, he imagines Ander next to him, strutting through the arrival zone with a duffel propped on his shoulder and a wicked glint in his eyes, that infuriating lopsided grin spreading on his face when their eyes meet across the airport.

* * *

43 days later, when Guzmán wanders into the arrivals zone at the terminal, he’s alone. 

Nadia runs across the airport and straight into his arms, while Omar lingers behind, smiling as he watches his sister wrap herself around the man that she loves, trying to ignore the sudden tightness and disappointment in his chest.

* * *

Guzmán is _exactly_ as Omar remembers him. Loud, boisterous, entitled and downright offensive at times, but always with the best intentions. 

He looks at Nadia like the sun shines out of her damn ass, smiles fondly at Lu whenever she insults him, and tries to casually ask Omar about his dating life. 

* * *

By the time Omar wakes up for the third time that night, he decides to give up on trying to sleep. He was never good at sleeping anyway, always tossing and turning in bed. But tonight, it’s made worse by Guzmán’s arrival and the strange sense of rejection Omar has been harbouring the entire day.

He sighs as he straightens up in his bed, reaching for his socks and hoodie and pulling them on.

The biggest perk of sleeping in the living room is that he can come and go as he pleases, without really waking anyone up in the process. The biggest downside is that he doesn’t really have any privacy. He can’t exactly jerk off in his room, or bring any guys home. But then again, he hasn’t really wanted to bring a boy home in so long. Not since Ander, in fact.

He pockets his phone and grabs his stash from his backpack before walking over to the open kitchen. He picks up the box of leftover pizza from the counter and climbs out the window and onto the fire escape. 

He settles down in his favourite spot on the floor, propping himself against the wall and setting about rolling a joint. The view isn’t spectacular, just the brick wall and fire escape of the building facing theirs, but it’s not like Omar was expecting the ocean in the middle of Brooklyn at 2:35 in the morning.

He lights up, taking a drag and propping the pizza box on his lap. He hears a commotion from the kitchen and cranes his neck to peek inside the house from the open window. He finds Guzmán standing dumbly in front of the open fridge.

“Jetlag?” Omar guesses out loud, causing Guzmán to startle.

Ever the dramatic, Guzmán puts a hand to his heart, closing his eyes for a long moment. “Jesus Christ, Omar. I nearly crapped myself.”

Omar doesn’t try very hard to hide his disappointment. “I kinda wish you did.” Guzmán laughs but flips him off before closing the fridge door. Omar waves a slice of pizza precariously in the air as a peace offering. “I’ve got pizza.”

Guzmán smiles before making his way to the window and climbing outside.

He plops himself on Lu’s makeshift tanning bed, leaning down to grab a slice of pizza from the open box. He points at the joint currently propped up on the small ashtray next to Omar. “You mind?”

Omar nods immediately, handing it to him. “You’ll have to excuse me for not offering to share it, but the first time we ever talked, you had me against the wall by the throat for selling your friend some weed.”

He tries to keep his thoughts from straying to the friend in question, to memories of that particular party.

Guzmán smiles lightly as he takes a drag.

“Not my finest moment,” he admits. “I have a family history of drug abuse.” Omar doesn’t really know how to react to this. Ander mentioned something once about Guzmán’s birth parents having OD’d, but he didn’t go into it and Omar didn’t pry. “And in my defence,” Guzmán adds after a moment, pulling Omar out of his thoughts, “he was on something much stronger than weed that night.”

Omar winces, a guilty expression colouring his face. “Not my finest moment,” he echoes. Guzmán’s grin widens as he takes another puff before handing the joint back to Omar and reaching for another slice of pizza. Omar’s thoughts stray again, now filled with memories of cheap string lights and stolen touches in a crowded kitchen and small dark bathrooms and secret kisses. He chews thoughtfully on his slice, surrendering to the fact that there will be no shaking Ander out of his head tonight. Instead, he allows himself to voice the question he’s been wanting to ask the minute he saw Guzmán this morning. “How is he?”

Guzmán, of course, doesn’t need to be told who _he_ is.

His face softens into a small, wistful smile. “He’s good.” He pauses for a moment, probably contemplating how much detail he should go into. “He’s... better.”

Omar swallows thickly, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. 

“Good,” he manages. “That’s good.”

He wants to ask more, wants to know what he’s doing and how he really is and if he’s decided what he wants to do yet and if he’s moved out from his mum’s place like he’s always wanted to do.

As if sensing his turmoil, Guzmán shoves the last of his slice into his mouth before he speaks.

“He’s taking a year off,” he tells him. “To think about what he wants to do or whatever. But he and Rebe are officially living together. They’ve rented a place and they want to go into business together.” 

Omar is highly amused by the thinly veiled jealousy in Guzmán’s voice. Leave it to that idiot to think Ander could replace him by making other friends.

His smile falters a little when he realizes he had a video call with Rebeka and Samuel just two days ago, and while Omar didn’t recognize the background as either of their places, neither of them mentioned anything. He can’t help but wonder what else his friends back home are keeping from him.

Guzmán’s last words finally filter through and Omar pushes his eyebrows together as he looks at him. “What kinda business?”

“They bought a restaurant. You know, La Cabaña? The place where Samu used to work? They went out of business.”

“Fucking serves them right,” Omar mutters darkly, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. “I applied to work there before I started dealing, but they wouldn’t hire me because I wasn’t white enough. Worried I would scare customers like you with my bushy eyebrows.”

Guzmán looks up at Omar, something akin to surprise on his face. “I never realized...”

Omar shrugs. “People like you rarely do.”

Guzmán raises his eyebrows. “People like me?”

Omar contemplates actually telling him what he means. So far, they’ve mostly been civil to each other. Friendly, even. But the Guzmán Omar remembers would absolutely throw a shit fit if Omar calls out his privilege so bluntly.

And yet, when Omar looks at him now, he doesn’t feel like the Guzmán he remembers. Or he does, but only to an extent.

So he takes a chance. “Privileged. Rich. White.”

Guzmán’s face flashes with something, but he immediately schools his features into a more sober look. “I’m sorry.”

Omar nods lightly. “I mean, to be fair, my eyebrows are a little intense.”

Guzmán relaxes lightly, a grin spreading on his face. 

“They really are,” he admits. “And if it helps, you were better off not serving us. We were dicks back then, even Ander.”

“You still are, a little bit.”

Guzmán laughs lightly, looking rather amused. Omar really likes this Guzmán.

“So, yeah,” Guzmán continues after a moment. “They’re now working to revamp the place and turn it into something nicer than what it was. You know, better food, a better vibe, better music.” Omar nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek, but otherwise keeping quiet. That doesn’t sound like a very Ander thing to do. “Well, Rebe’s doing all the branding stuff. Ander is just investing, for the most part. He got access to some money when he turned 18, inheritance from Azucena’s side of the family or something. And Rebe needed a business partner, and it all just kinda fell into place.”

That sounds more like Ander. Minimum effort, maximum payoff. Omar hates how much he misses him in that moment. 

He also hates that he knows that it was Azucena’s uncle who left Ander the money, that he was very old and didn’t have any children of his own, that he loved Ander, that he kinda left him everything, and even though he wasn’t extravagantly rich, it still left Ander with a good chunk of money when he came of age. 

The point is, Omar and Ander’s lives were so intricately linked once that Azucena didn’t think twice about divulging all this private family information in front of Omar. 

And now they haven’t spoken in a year.

Omar clears his throat and shuts his eyes tightly, trying to keep his feelings from eating him. He takes one last drag from his joint before offering it to Guzmán. When Guzmán shakes his head, Omar lets the spark die out in the ashtray. He wrings his fingers together, staring intently into his lap.

“And him and Alexís are good?” His voice is hoarser than he wants it to be.

“Alexís? Who the hell is Alexís?”

Omar’s head snaps up to look at Guzmán, only to find his eyebrows jumbled together and the most confused look colouring his face. 

“His boyf--“ Omar lets the word die out on his tongue, the cogs in his head turning. A thought occurs to him. The most ridiculous of thoughts, really, but… what if it was all lie? What if Ander just did it to push Omar away? To spare him the pain of having to watch him die? No. He couldn’t think like that. Ander wouldn’t have done that. Even _he_ wasn’t that much of a self-sacrificing idiot. “Never mind,” he mumbles eventually, shaking the train of illusions out his mind. It probably wasn’t a serious thing, that’s why Guzmán doesn’t know. “And he’s okay? You know, his health and everything?”

“On his way to a full recovery,” Guzmán tells him, a genuine smile overtaking his entire face.

Omar feels a flood of relief course through him, his own face mirroring Guzmán’s. ”That’s… That’s good. I’m glad he has a good support system. He needs it.”

Guzmán nods lightly, turning in his chair to better look at Omar.

“Omar... I don’t know what happened between you guys...” he trails off, his voice soft and filled with sincerity. “He doesn’t talk about it.” Of course he doesn’t talk about it, it’s Ander. He never talks about anything that matters, not unless it’s killing him. And even then, it’s as a last resort. “But when you guys went through what you went through...” Guzmán’s voice breaks slightly, clearly overwhelmed with the memories. “I’m scared to think what Ander would’ve done without you. You were a great support system.”

Somewhere in the very back of his mind, Omar knows he was. That they were both good for each other, supportive and caring and always there when it mattered the most. That they both loved each other very much.

It’s just that it’s all buried under a mountain of hurt.

So what pops to Omar’s mind following Guzmán’s words is that he wasn’t. He wallowed in misery and cried often, when Ander was the one who was sick. _Selfish_. He thought about his own impending heartache, about how _he_ wouldn’t be able to cope if he ever lost Ander. _Selfish_. He cheated to make himself feel better. It didn’t work, but he did it anyway, without thinking about Ander or Nadia or anyone other than himself. _Selfish_.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were,” Guzmán counters immediately. “You kept him grounded and didn’t let him fold in on himself like he so often does, even if it meant he was taking his frustration and anger out on you most of the time.” He pauses for a moment, inhaling sharply. “I never thanked you for telling me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d found out about it after it was too late,” he confesses.

Omar refuses to take credit for something he believes anyone else would’ve done, but he musters up a smile. “Does he still do that? Bottle everything up and allow it to eat him up from the inside out?”

Guzmán groans. “Everything that matters, yes. A bit less than before, maybe. But I still have to pry most things out of him, and I lose the fight a lot more than I win.” He locks eyes with Omar’s. “Like why you guys broke up, or what he told you at graduation.”

Omar’s eyebrows push together. “You mean at the club?”

“No, at school. He went to find you after the ceremony was over, before we left for the after party.”

Omar remembers talking to Malick and finding his parents with Azucena after, but he’s pretty sure Ander didn’t even so much as look at him at Las Encinas that day. 

He sighs. “Ander and I didn’t talk at graduation.”

Guzmán looks highly confused. “You didn’t?”

Omar shakes his head. “The only time we talked that day was at the club, after. Once when you guys first got there, when he told me to go to New York.” He swallows thickly. “And once right before they interviewed us for...” Omar trails off, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to dredge up memories of that day, and he imagines Guzmán wants that even less. “Anyway, after that we didn’t really have time to think about any of it, let alone talk.”

Guzmán shrugs. “Maybe I’m hallucinating things. It is 3 in the morning, after all.” He leans back into his chair, propping his feet up against the railing. “Why are _you_ up, by the way?”

It’s Omar’s turn to shrug. “Was never a good sleeper.”

Ander’s solution for it was to exhaust Omar in all the right ways before going to bed. It usually worked. Ander’s arm possessively wrapping itself around Omar’s waist while they were sleeping helped too.

Guzmán doesn’t need to know that. 

* * *

It’s not just the first night. Guzmán has trouble sleeping too. Having your best friend accidentally murder your sister and then get accidentally murdered by your ex-girlfriend will do that to you, apparently. 

Having a friend to keep him company at the ungodly hours of the night is nice, Omar decides. 

He’s almost embarrassed to call Guzmán a friend. But he’s nice. Nicer than Omar remembers. He kind of gets it, now. Why Ander likes him so much, and why Lu spent half her life infatuated with him, and why his sister decided he was worth falling in love with.


	4. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I saw Ander last night,” Omar interrupts, his voice coming out a lot thicker than he intends.

Three months after Guzmán’s visit, Omar meets Tristan during one of his art classes. 

Tristan is nice. He listens to trash European music, compliments Omar’s floral shirts and has a mishmash of tattoos all over his body. 

Most importantly, he’s a good kisser. He’s good at other things, too.

* * *

He can’t remember the exact details of Ander’s face anymore. 

He knows what Ander looks like, of course. Curly (sometimes buzzed) hair, a jaw that could kill, a beauty mark on his left cheekbone, a small, silver hoop earring permanently dangling from his left earlobe.

But when he closes his eyes and pictures him, Omar can’t remember the exact way his lips curve up when he smiles, or the right colour of his eyes when the sun is shining on them through his bedroom window, or the exact way that one overgrown curl falls on his forehead.

Ander is slowly fading into the background, and it absolutely terrifies Omar.

* * *

“So, when are you going to introduce us to your boyfriend?”

Omar stares at his computer screen, taken completely by surprise by his mother’s question.

Ever since Guzmán got back to Madrid, he promised Nadia he’d visit their parents more often. 

He’s taken his laptop with him every single time he’s done so, helping them make video calls with their kids.

It’s not something Omar ever thought he would be doing, but here he was, and he wasn’t exactly mad about it. He missed his parents.

It’s just that more often than not, his parents caught him off guard with their questions, much like right now.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, mama.”

Ever the soft-hearted and simple woman, his mother‘s face slips into a slight frown. “But Lucrecia and Nadia said you did.”

Omar groans under his breath, turning to stare accusingly at the two girls in question. 

“No, mama,” Nadia chimes in hurriedly, shaking her head frantically next to Omar. “We said he was hanging out with someone.”

“Hanging out?” His father echoes with a concerned tone. “Does that mean something indecent?”

Omar has to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. They’re literally talking about Omar’s potential boyfriend and his dad is still worried about decency, whatever that means. 

“It means they’re getting to know each other,” Lu explains diplomatically. “And if they find that they’re compatible, they will get together.”

Imán and Yusef are quiet for a few seconds, wearing equally confused expressions. Omar can see Guzmán looking highly amused in the background. If his parents didn’t have a front row seat, Omar would’ve definitely flipped him off by now. 

“Next time we talk, introduce us to your hangout friend,” his father urges after a few moments, like the past few minutes were just a figment of everyone’s imagination. 

Omar can’t stop the audible sigh that escapes him this time, hanging his head and admitting defeat. Even Nadia can’t help but snort next to him. 

“Okay, baba.”

His mother nods with a satisfied air to her, moving on. “And you, Lucrecia? Have you met someone you like yet?”

Omar is thankful for the break, listening to Lu struggle to answer that question without completely offending Yusef and Imán. Sleeping your way through the Columbia student body isn’t exactly the news you want to be sharing with the closest thing you have to parental figures.

But hey, more power to her.

Omar zones out, his thoughts drifting to the last boyfriend he wanted to introduce to his parents. The only boyfriend he ever wanted to introduce to his parents, really.

* * *

_Saturday mornings are Omar’s favourites._

_Saturday mornings mean staying under the sheets long past the alarm with Ander and having breakfast together and no chemo sessions and no homework or grades or worrying about how they’re both probably going to fail this year._

_Omar finds himself perched on the kitchen counter one such morning, legs dangling like a small child as Ander makes breakfast. Omar and Azucena had offered to do it, but Ander insisted he felt fine to do it himself today. When they both objected, he resorted to using his best pout and begging for a bit of normalcy._

_So they caved, Omar hopping on the counter to keep him company as Azucena made her way to the backyard. And that’s where they’ve been for the past 10 or so minutes, Omar’s thoughts milling around his head as he watches Azucena through the kitchen window, sipping her coffee and reading some torrid romance novel. That’s what she liked to do on her Saturday mornings, he’d come to learn._

_Ander must sense Omar’s unease because he suddenly walks over to him and presses a small kiss to his neck before popping some bread in the toaster. “What are you thinking about?”_

_Omar looks down at his lap, wringing his hands together and fiddling with one of his rings. “I wish you could meet my dad.”_

_Ander takes the milk out of the fridge and adds a splash to his mixing bowl, watching Omar curiously. “I’ve met your dad, Omar. I nearly punched him in the school hallway.”_

_Omar shakes his head, a small, amused smile colouring his face. “Forget it.”_

_“No, come on.” Ander places the milk on the counter before walking over to him once more. He gets all up in Omar’s space, resting his palms on Omar’s thighs and craning his neck to catch his boyfriend’s downcast eyes. “I’m sorry,” he pleads, pouting lightly. Omar tries to bite back his smile but looks up anyway. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”_

_Omar doesn’t say anything for a few beats, hands reaching out to thumb Ander’s collar. “I just sometimes wish I could take you home to my parents, you know?” He shrugs his shoulder lightly, but Ander nods sincerely and squeezes his thighs, silently urging him to go on. “Like, I hated Azucena for outing me to my dad, but now I know her, you know?” Ander lets go of Omar to take the bread out of the toaster and pop another two slices in. “And like, I know that Wednesday night is mother-son time, and that she makes a mean Bolognese, like probably the best I will ever have, and that she’s not impartial to some weed every once in a while, and that she’s stupid strong but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like stupid books.”_

_“Is this a love letter to my mum?” Ander teases as he whisks the egg mixture. “Because I mean, she’s pretty dope, but are you secretly in my pants just for my mum?”_

_Omar huffs a laugh, muttering “dickhead” under his breath. Ander flips him off with a grin on his face._ _“It just makes me so mad that you’ll never know my parents as something other than the tyrants who threw their gay son to the curb.”_

_Ander pours his egg mixture into the pan on the stove before turning to look at Omar._ _“So tell me about them.” Omar raises his eyebrows, a little confused. “If you want me to know the good stuff, tell me the good stuff. The stuff you remember when you get past the layers of bullshit.”_

_Omar smiles to himself, fiddling with the chain around his neck and propping it between his lips for a moment._

_“My dad could live on ice cream,” he tells him. “When we were kids, he would pick us up from school after prayer on Fridays and take us to eat ice cream before lunch. It used to drive mama crazy.” Ander’s face softens, his eyes on Omar as he gently stirs the eggs in the pan. “He’s also a really good cook. My mum does most of the cooking, because fucking gender norms,” he adds, unable to keep from rolling his eyes. “But he’s actually the better chef in the family. He makes the best Middle Eastern food.”_

_Ander smiles. “And your mum?”_

_“My mum talks to May every night. Not physically, of course. But she sends out a prayer for her every day, and every time the phone rings at the shop, I know she hopes it’s May calling to tell her that she’s coming home.” Omar sighs, fiddling with his ring again. He wishes May was still here. That she could see him now, gay and out to his friends - and his family, even if they refuse to understand it – and living with his boyfriend. “She’s also a mean poker player,” he adds after a moment, trying to lighten up the mood._

_Ander raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Is that, like, allowed?”_

_“I mean, she doesn’t play for money, because you know, it’s the devil’s work and all that,” Omar dismisses, gesticulating vaguely in the air. “But if she did, we would be so fucking rich right now. Like, Polo rich. No, like Polo-and-Carla-combined rich. I’m pretty sure whoever coined the term poker face met my mum first.”_

_Ander barks a laughs. “I seriously doubt that, but I’ll admit I’m curious enough to wish I could see her in action.”_

_Omar’s face falls slightly, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. “Yeah. Me too.”_

_Ander turns off the heat under the pan before walking over to Omar and placing his hands on either side of Omar’s face, locking their eyes together. Omar leans into his touch, reaching out to run his fingers through Ander’s buzzed hair. It still feels weird, not finding the curls he’s so used to, so he allows his hand to travel down Ander’s neck to fist his shirt instead, holding onto him as Ander leans in for a kiss._

_Ander pulls back after a moment, nosing Omar’s cheek but not letting go._

_“If it helps, my dad’s a dick too,” he mumbles casually, causing Omar to let out a surprised giggle. “A different type of dick, but a dick nonetheless.”_

_“I’ve met your dad, Ander. I nearly punched him in your living room.”_

_Ander laughs lightly as he pulls away entirely, walking over to plate their breakfast._

_“I remember that,” he tells him, waving the spatula in his hand vaguely. “The aftermath was worth it,” he adds, a wicked look on his face as he wags his eyebrows._

_“Oh, the aftermath was so worth it.”_

* * *

“This better be important.”

Lu appears in the living room in a pale pink silk robe over a thin tank top and some cotton shorts, hair piled messily on top of her head and pulled back with a thick headband.

Nadia smiles with amusement from her perch on the couch, her eyes following Lu as she plops down on the couch next to her.

Omar would laugh under normal circumstances, but as it is, he’s too excited to really focus on anything that’s happening around him. He reaches for his backpack and takes out the item hidden in it, throwing it on the table in front of the girls.

Nadia raises her eyebrows sceptically. “You called us out here like the house is on fire to show us a comic book?”

“Open the first page,” Omar tells her, practically bouncing with anticipation. 

Nadia stares at him curiously for another moment before she leans forward and grabs the magazine off the table. Lu scoots closer to Nadia as they flip to the first page, finding nothing but a two-page illustration of a slimy-looking monster feeding on some dirt.

Lu huffs loudly. “Omar, I swear to fucking god if this is about some nerdy shit, I’m going to kill you. Looking this fabulous takes time, you know!”

She waves her arms dramatically to emphasize her fabulousness, but Omar only shakes his head.

“Okay, the second page.”

Lu sighs as Nadia flips to the second page where the contents are listed, along with some random credits at the bottom. Nadia looks up at Omar, eyebrows still pushed together in confusion. Omar doesn’t say anything, only nodding lightly at the magazine in her hands and biting his nails nervously. 

Nadia finally gets the hint and looks back at the page, reading what’s written carefully. She practically yelps when she finally spots it, looking up at Omar with wide, slightly confused eyes as she clutches the magazine close to her. 

“WHAT?” She screams, her lips curling into an excited smile.

“WHAT?” Lu repeats next to her, eyes flitting back and forth between Omar and Nadia, still completely in the dark. “Is someone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Nadia laughs wildly as she shoves the comic in Lu’s face, her finger pointing at the bottom of the page, where, among the illustrators, the name _Omar Shanaa_ is listed.

Lu’s eyebrows furrow together for only a moment before she jumps off the couch, throwing the comic away like it somehow offended her.

“OH MY GOD!” She yells excitedly. “YOUR NAME IS IN HERE!” She bends down to pick the magazine back up and stare at the page again. “ _Why_ is your name in here? Since when are you an _illustrator_?”

“I didn’t want to tell you guys in case it didn’t pan out,” Omar starts to explain. “But basically my art teacher knows someone who knows someone who knows someone who works at this super small comic book publisher, and she told me to submit my stuff, and at first I didn’t want to because who would want to see my shit, but then I told Fae and she basically wrote the email into my phone and attached everything and just told me to just press send. So I did.” He recounts it all in one breath, still not really sure any of it’s real. “They called me three days later. And two fucking weeks after that, this shit happens.” He points at the comic book still tucked in Lu’s arms. “And now I’m a—“

“Comic book artist!” Nadia finishes for him, laughing gleefully.

“You’re a fucking comic book artist!” Lu shrieks again, laughing along with Nadia as they both run towards him at the same time, trapping him inside a three-way hug, complete with a mess of limbs and way too much screaming. “Okay, okay, okay,” Lu continues, pulling away and looking like she means business. “We have to celebrate, we have to—oh shit, you have a shift at the pub tonight, don’t you? Wait, do you still work at the pub now that you’re a published comic book artist? Oh shit, I left the wax machine on, I have to…” She trails off, pointing vaguely in the direction of her room and making a run for it. She disappears into the room for only a second before she peeks her head out the door again. “We’re celebrating tonight, bitches, so clear your schedules!” 

And then she disappears into her room, slamming the door a little too excitedly behind her and yelling out a muffled “ _Sorry!”_

Omar bursts out laughing, Nadia joining him as they watch the spot vacated by Lu.

Nadia’s chuckles quiet down after a moment, and she looks up at her brother.

“I’m so proud of you,” she tells him genuinely, pushing herself up on her toes to wrap her arms around Omar’s neck.

Omar hugs her back, more grateful for her than ever. If she hadn’t pushed him to take that class, none of this would’ve happened. 

But she did and now he’s working at a fucking publishing house.

He tightens his hold on his sister. 

* * *

The answer is yes, he does keep his job at the pub. 

It’s a hassle, juggling his night gig with his job at the publishing house, but he likes bartending. Also, it means more money. It means he can go back with the girls to Spain this summer, if he wants to.

He hasn’t decided if he wants to, yet.

* * *

“Jesus Christ, Omar. Pretty soon you’ll be too big a shit for us.”

Omar chuckles in front of his laptop as he watches Rebeka’s eyes light up on his screen. He’d been showing her the comics he’s worked on – five issues, now, and Omar is genuinely blown away that he’s been doing this for five months now. But he has, and everyone’s been so supportive, and Rebeka basically asks to see new stuff every time they video call, always his number one supporter.

“No one will ever be a bigger shit than you,” he teases and Rebeka flips him off on the screen as she grins wickedly. 

“ _Joder_ ,” she mutters after a moment, sobering up. “I really fucking miss you.”

Omar swallows thickly as he watches her, feeling a small pang in his chest. He misses her too. He’s happy here, and New York is amazing, and he’s doing things he never imagined he would.

But. He misses Madrid and the shop and the streets and his friends more than he ever thought he would. He misses his family. He misses being behind the bar at Teatro Barceló. He misses the excitement he’d feel when Ander would finally walk through the doors of the club, making a beeline for the bar, or when Rebeka would drag him out onto the dance floor, or when Samuel would inescapably start making a fool of himself after a few drinks. He even misses those stupid rich people theme parties the club seemed to host ever single week.

He’s about to speak, to tell her that he misses her too, when he hears the sound of a door unlocking in the background, followed by the sound of laughter coming from his laptop speakers.

Omar’s words die out on his tongue even before they’re out, his heart catching in his throat. 

He’d recognize that laugh anywhere.

Rebeka, for her part, looks slightly panicked, eyes wide as she looks at the intruder off screen.

“You said you were going to be late.” Her eyes flicker nervously to her laptop screen for a second before she looks at the person off screen again.

In the corner of the screen, Omar sees a figure walk into the frame, visible only from the stomach to the knees. 

Omar can’t breathe. He knows that shirt. He’s _worn_ that shirt.

“Valerio bailed.“ He knows that fucking voice, too. “We thought we c—“

The voice stops abruptly, the figure on the screen freezing too, presumably having finally seen exactly _who_ is on Rebeka’s screen. He takes a step back, his torso and shins now visible, and Omar can’t fucking breathe and can’t fucking think and can’t fucking see him right now. He can’t. He’s not ready. 

Before Ander can take another step back, Omar closes his laptop sharply, nearly breaking the screen in the process.

When Lu gets home nearly an hour later, Omar is in the exact same spot on the fire escape, computer still cradled in his lap, heart still beating achingly fast. 

He still can’t breathe.

* * *

“You look like shit.”

Omar snaps out of his thoughts, the world around him finally swimming into focus. He musters up a smile as he watches Tristan plop down on the bench next to him before handing him a coffee.

Omar nods his head gratefully. He blows on his cup thoughtfully before taking a sip.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night,” he confesses.

He didn’t get any sleep, in fact. 

After Lu found him on the fire escape, he went straight to bed. Lu and Nadia could tell something was wrong, but they could also tell that whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it. So they give him the space he needed and shut themselves in Lu’s room to study. 

Rebeka tried to call again later, but he couldn’t pick up her call no matter how much he wanted to.

Instead, he tossed and turned in bed all night, a jumble of thoughts and memories and realizations, until finally, at 4 in the morning, he made up his mind. He waited until it was 7 to text Tristan, asking him meet him in the park when he woke up, and that’s pretty much where he’s been since. 

Tristan keeps his eyes peeled in front of him, forehead wrinkling as he drinks some of his coffee.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your eagerness to see me at...” he trails off, taking out his phone and looking at the clock, “8:37 am, but why couldn’t this wait until later? I mean, I have something I wanted to talk to you about too, but it seems a lot less important than whatever’s on your mind.”

Omar’s ears perk up, curiosity getting the better of him. He turns until he’s facing Tristan, sitting cross-legged on the park bench. “You first.”

Tristan shakes his head, turning to mirror Omar’s position. “I’m pretty sure your thing is more important if it made you text me at the crack of dawn.”

Omar sighs. “It probably is, but I still want you to go first. Please?” 

Tristan huffs. “You know, it’s really unfair for you to ask anything of people when you look like a little sad raccoon. No one can say no to that.” 

Omar chuckles lightly, appreciating Tristan’s attempt at lightening up his mood.

Tristan is great. He’s funny and nice and caring and brutally honest and Omar knows that. He also knows that he’s not Ander.

“I’ll wear some concealer, next time.” 

“That would be very helpful.” Tristan laughs as he sets his coffee cup on the bench between them, locking his eyes with Omar’s. “Okay, so I was thinking, I wanted to get some new tattoos, and I want one of them to be one of your illustrations.” Omar is taken aback, not expecting this at all. “I haven’t decided which one yet, but I thought we could go through them and you could tell me if that’s okay and...” Tristan trails off, watching as Omar’s face falls right before his eyes. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Tristan reassures quickly. “It’s just a thing I like to do and—“

“I saw Ander last night,” Omar interrupts, his voice coming out a lot thicker than he intends.

Tristan frowns lightly. “Ander? As in your ex, Ander?” Omar takes relief in the fact that he looks proportionally confused. “What do you mean you _saw_ Ander? How- Wher— doesn’t he, like, live in Spain?” 

Omar groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He does. I didn’t exactly see him, just— I was Skyping with my friend - Rebe, I’ve told you about her - and they live together and Ander came home earlier than he was supposed to and I kinda heard him and then saw, like, part of his shirt, and then I’m pretty sure he saw me, but then before he backed away enough for me to see his face on the screen I panicked and smashed my laptop closed and nearly broke it in two in the process.” 

He winces as he finishes recounting his story, hiding his face behind his palms and groaning again.

What a fucking mess.

He expects Tristan to be mad or upset or annoyed. What he doesn’t expect, when he looks up at him, is to find Tristan trying to stifle his ever-growing grin, until he can’t bottle it in any longer, snorting horribly at first and then full-blown laughing.

Omar stares at him in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” Tristan manages in between laughs, “I’m sorry.”

Omar is mostly annoyed. “Is my misery that funny to you?”

Tristan laughs even harder, causing Omar to get even more frustrated.

“I’m sorry,” Tristan repeats. “I just keep imagining your face and you panicking enough to manhandle your laptop.”

Despite himself, Omar’s own face starts twisting into a smile, thinking about how poignantly dramatic everything seemed in that moment.

“I just wasn’t expecting to see him or hear him,” Omar defends lamely, but he’s openly laughing now, too. “I haven’t had any sort of interaction with him since I left Madrid, and then he just shows up and he still has the same shirt and I just panicked.” 

Tristan only laughs harder, causing Omar to laugh harder too. 

It takes them a minute to calm down, but when they finally do, Tristan turns a thoughtful gaze to Omar. “Are you okay?”

Omar shakes his head. “I didn’t think seeing him would fuck me up that much,” he admits. “I kept telling myself that I’m over him, that it’s normal for me to miss him, that when I see him again, I’ll be okay with.” He looks down at his lap for a moment, twisting his ring nervously around his finger. “But I’m not okay,” he admits. “I heard his voice and the world just… shut down. And I just felt— I don’t know how to explain it. Everything came flooding back to me. All the feelings and the anger and the longing and the resentment and the memories and I don’t know…“

Tristan shrugs. “You’re not over him.”

“Which is ridiculous,” Omar counters. “How can you not be over someone you haven’t seen or talked to in two years?”

Tristan shrugs again.

“It’s not like there’s a roadmap or a timeline for that shit,” he tells Omar, fishing into his pocket for his cigarette pack. He takes one out and hands it to Omar. “Hell, sometimes I think I’m still not over my first girlfriend, and she’s, like, a fully suburban housewife with a bunch of kids now.” Omar snorts, lighting up his cigarette. “We’re all idiots in our own ways, man.”

Omar feels so tired. He’s got a pretty good life, here. A good job, good friends, an apartment with a fucking fire escape straight out of a movie, a nice guy making him laugh on a park bench. It’s, well, close to perfect.

He’s tempted to laugh as Ander’s words come to mind.

_Only an idiot would let something too perfect slip away._

At least the three of them seem in agreement that Omar is, in fact, an idiot. 

“Yeah, idiot is definitely up there with my qualities,” Omar mutters bitterly. He fiddles with his shoelaces for a moment. “I’m sorry, if that hurts you,” he adds after a moment, meeting Tristan’s eyes. “I know we’re not serious, or we haven’t even talked about what we are, but still…”

“Forget it,” Tristan dismisses immediately, shaking his head lightly and waving him off. “I mean, sure, I like you, but I’m not gonna resent you for not being over someone. You and I are good together, but we can also be good friends.” He reaches out to shove Omar lightly, smiling in reassurance. “So you’ve made a decision about Spain, then?”

Omar nods, his face slipping into a more solemn look. “I’m going back to visit this summer.” It feels weird to say it out loud, but it’s pretty much the only thing he’s certain of, at this point. “I have to see him if I want to properly move on.”

“Makes sense,” Tristan agrees. 

“Plus, I really miss my family and my friends,” Omar admits. “I ran halfway across the world just because I’m broken up about a white boy, and that’s not really fair to them.”

“Eh.” Tristan shrugs, shaking his head. “We’re all broken up about some white boy.” Omar hums, smiling lightly. Tristan does the same, before continuing. “Now, about that tattoo…”

Omar’s head snaps back up, a little surprised. “You still want me to draw you a tattoo?”

“Bitch, I was only in it for your talent anyway,” Tristan teases casually, earning a chuckle out of Omar. “Nah, man. You know it’s my trademark. Half of the shit tattooed on me is drawn by my friends, and I want something from you.”

Omar smiles. 

“Okay,” he agrees. “One condition, though.” Tristan raises his eyebrows quizzically. “You’re taking me with you so I can finally get my first tattoo. I already know what I want to get and I finally have enough money to get it.”

Tristan grins. “Lemme guess. Ander’s face tattooed on your ass?”

Omar shoves him a lot more forcefully this time, Tristan’s laughter echoing through the park. “You’re a dickhead.”

Tristan shrugs again. “’Takes one to know one.” 

Omar grins.

_Fair point._


	5. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s just a hug. It’s only a hug. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a hug.

Turns out, the owner of the tattoo parlour, Sly, is a friend of Tristan’s. So when he slashes the prices in half for them, Omar ends up getting three tattoos. 

The first is a small pride flag on the inside of his right elbow, because he’s nothing if not a cliché. 

The second one is a colourful illustration by Cavolo, one of his favourite artists, that he gets tattooed on his right hand.

The third and most personal one is a small doodle from one of the comics he drew his sisters when they were little, depicting the three of them fighting a three-headed monster. He gets that one on his side, slightly below his ribcage.

“You drew that?” Omar looks up at his tattoo artist, watching as he cleans up the finished tattoo with a slightly impressed look on his face. Omar nods lightly. “It’s really good.”

Omar musters up a smile, nodding in thanks. He never really thought about getting one of his own illustrations tattooed on him. 

Well, until that day.

* * *

_“When did you get your first tattoo?”_

_Ander looks at Omar curiously, a hint of a smile on his face._

_It’s a Wednesday morning and they’re still in bed. School’s out today for some public holiday neither of them know anything about, but for the first time in what feels like months, they have nothing to do, nowhere to be, no one to meet; no plans with any of their friends, no work or school Omar has to rush to, no existential dread or secrets looming over them. Well, the dread and secrets are still there, but lying here, circled in each other’s arms in Ander’s bed, Omar half on top of him and gently tracing the cluster of tattoos on his chest, arms, legs, it feels like the real world can wait a little longer. That they can have a few more hours of blissful oblivion in the bubble of Ander’s room._

_Ander hums. “I was 14.” His fingers comb gently through Omar’s hair. “We spent the summer in Asturias, at my uncle’s place. My cousin got a tattoo gun. I was his lab rat.”_

_Omar huffs a small laugh but otherwise doesn’t move, keeping his head tucked on Ander’s chest as he traces the small sun and moon on his boyfriend’s collarbone. “And your parents were fine with it?”_

_Ander shrugs. “My dad couldn’t care less as long as I was still busting my ass playing Tennis, and my mum has never really been that strict about anything. She just took one look at the tattoo on my ass and said “looking forward to seeing you regret that” and just walked away.”_

_Omar chuckles lightly. “Yeah, that does sound like Azucena.” He pulls away slightly, his fingers trailing across Ander’s chest to come up to his bicep. His eyebrows push together lightly. “And the M is for...?”_

_“Marina,” Ander replies immediately, his face uncharacteristically serious. Omar‘s head snaps up, his eyebrows disappearing in his hairline. Omar would’ve believe him, too, but Ander’s face crumples into a laugh a few seconds later, unable to keep his charade up. “Muñoz. But I did tell Guzmán it was for Marina when I first got it just to give him a small heart attack.”_

_Omar snorts, going back to tracing the tattoo, a small smile on his face. “I would’ve liked to have seen his face when you told him.”_

_“Wouldn’t speak to me for three whole weeks,” Ander recounts, the amusement evident in his tone._

_“Muñoz,” Omar repeats, a little sceptical._

_“None of them have any real meaning behind them,” Ander admits. “I was just choosing random things that my cousin could easily try to practice.”_

_“The circle does,” Omar tells him, leaning forward again and resting his chin on Ander’s chest. His fingers circle the tattoo a few times. “It’s supposed to mean eternity and perfection. Because it doesn’t have a beginning or an end. It just... is.”_

_Ander frowns lightly, craning his neck to look at his boyfriend. “You seem to know a lot about circles.”_

_“About tattoos,” Omar corrects. “I’ve always wanted to get one, and unlike you, I’ve done my research. I know what my first tattoo is gonna be.”_

_Ander’s lips curl up on one side. “Yeah?”_

_Omar nods. “There’s this artist I really like. Ricardo Cavolo. He’s known for, like, this flaming heart, with an eye inside of it.” Ander looks a little sceptical. “It looks better than it sounds, and I’ve made little tweaks to it too. I’m adding a tear to the eye, kinda a little bit like the one you have on your arm. But mine will be all colourful and bright, and I want it right here,” he adds, pointing at his right hand._

_Ander looks at him a shit-eating grin on his face. “So we’ll kinda have matching tattoos, then?”_

_Omar snorts. “Kinda.”_

_When he looks up at Ander, he finds him staring back at him with a look Omar can’t place. His hair is sticking up in odd places and simultaneously falling on his forehead, he’s got faint pillow creases on his cheek and a very (very, very, very) light stubble, and yeah, Omar kinda forgets why he turned to look at him in the first place and just leans forward, catching his lips in a very hungry kiss. Ander laughs at first but kisses him back just as eagerly, nipping at his lower lip and grabbing at his hips greedily._

_Omar straddles Ander’s waist before pulling away to reach for a condom from the nightstand drawer._

_Ander runs his hands along Omar’s thighs, still looking a little too contemplative. “No offense to this Cavolo guy, I’m sure he’s really good, but I think you should tattoo one of your own drawings.”_

_Omar’s head snaps back to Ander, hastily dropping the packet on his boyfriend’s chest and staring at him with mild confusion. “What?”_

_“I don’t know much about art or whatever,” Ander shrugs, trying to keep his tone casual but avoiding Omar’s eyes, “but I’d want a tattoo by you.”_

_Omar thinks his heart might be on the verge of bursting, but he also knows Ander enough to know he’s trying to not make a big deal out of this. So Omar leans forward and captures Ander’s lips in another kiss._

_“And maybe one day, I’ll draw you one,” he mumbles against his lips, smiling. He reaches for the condom packet on Ander’s chest and presses it into Ander’s hand. “But right now, we have more pressing matters.”_

_Ander’s eyes glint wickedly before he flips them around rather impressively, causing Omar to bark a surprised laugh and hold onto him a little more aggressively._

_Ander grins wider, licking his lips before he dips his head to Omar’s neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses and sliding a hand under the waistband of Omar’s boxers._

_“I’ll get right on it.”_

* * *

His parents will probably freak out when they see he got tattoos, but if they can accept that he’s gay, then they can accept that he wants to vandalize his skin while simultaneously carrying a piece of his sisters with him wherever he goes.

Tristan turns to Omar. “So, ‘we good to go?”

Omar is about to say yes when Ander’s voice floats to the forefront of his thoughts.

_So we’ll kinda having matching tattoos, then?_

While Omar does have a masters in making dumb, spur-of-the-moment decisions, he’s never been the sentimental type. So he’s not sure what his thought process is when he looks at Tristan apologetically and turns to Sly again. 

“Actually, you think you can spare some time for one more tattoo? A very small, very quick one? Just a simple circle.”

Sly nods immediately while Tristan arches his eyebrows. “A circle?”

Omar nods. “Somewhere that’s easily concealed.”

“Sure,” Sly says, putting on a fresh pair of gloves. “Hip? Ribcage? Lower back?”

Omar grimaces lightly, not really fond of any of these suggestions. 

“Back of my neck,” he decides. 

“That’s not very concealed if you never grow out your hair,” Tristan points out sceptically.

He’s right, of course, but Omar is big on trusting his instincts and he wants it there, so he shrugs again.

Ander will probably never see it, so it doesn’t really matter anyway. 

* * *

Nadia and Lu are ecstatic about Omar’s decision to go back to Spain with them for the summer, first intensely screaming with excitement and outrage about having hidden that from them and then immediately jumping into planning mode to figure out all the things the three of them must do while there.

He asks them not to tell anyone, however, and even though Nadia fully struggles to keep it from their parents and Lu starts a literal countdown on all her social media channels, they somehow manage to keep it a secret from everyone.

On the day of, Lu posts a flurry of Instagram stories on the train and at the airport and on the plane, miraculously keeping Omar hidden in every single one. 

It’s worth it if only to see his parents’ faces when they spot him walking between Nadia and Lu at the airport. They cry, of course, and so does he, and so does Nadia, and they hug and hug and hug, and Lu watches with a soft smile on her face until Imán reaches for her and pulls her over for the family hug.

* * *

The ride home from the airport is the strangest Omar has felt in years. 

Madrid looks both so different and yet exactly the same, its streets and people and shops and places leaving him with both a sense of awe and a familiarity that Omar has so rarely felt before. 

Ever the sentimental, his dad takes the long road back from the airport to include a small detour past Las Encinas, causing Nadia to tear up as Lu starts recounting memories a mile a minute, Omar swearing he can see Azucena’s bright orange hair in the parking lot.

He does chokes up a little when they finally get to their old neighbourhood, the cobbled intertwining streets and narrow roads bringing back a flurry of unexpectedly happy memories. Omar might’ve had a tough time growing up and had to hide himself and put up with a lot of racism and islamophobia when he was a kid, but he still has very fond memories of his neighbourhood, most of them of him and Samuel getting in trouble more often than not.

In fact, he has to physically keep himself from jumping out of the car when they near Samuel’s place. He still tries to spot him or anyone he knows as they drive by the main square in the neighbourhood, and when they finally park in front of the shop, his heart feels like it might literally burst out of his chest.

He gets out of the car and stands frozen in front of the shop door, just taking it all in. He feels more than sees Nadia join him after a moment, and he instinctively reaches out to wrap an arm around her shoulder.

“It’s good to be home.”

* * *

“I can’t believe we’re actually here.”

Omar smiles and sinks further into his pillows, watching his sister looking around their old room with what can only be described as awe.

It all feels so surreal.

Less than 24 hours ago, he was on his fire escape in New York, and now he’s in Madrid, in his childhood home, his whole body buzzing with excitement despite being half-asleep on his bed.

“I can’t believe this is the first time I’m seeing the inside of your house,” Lu says, taking the room in. 

That’s the most surreal part, maybe, because the Lu that Omar associates with Madrid is one that wouldn’t be caught dead in a house like this. But their apartment in New York is almost as small as their house here and Lu actually works to earn her money now, so her perspective on the world has largely shifted since the last time Omar was here. 

Omar looks at Lu with a slightly confused expression. “Didn’t you come here when you visited last year?”

Lu shakes her head. “Valerio picked me up straight from the airport, and I don’t know, we were here for 10 days only the last time, so I guess we didn’t really have time to chill.” She smiles as she looks at a picture of Nadia and Omar and May when they were kids. “I like it so much I almost don’t want to stay at Valerio’s this time.”

Nadia smiles warmly. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here, if you want.”

“Aww, bitch, you already miss me living with me, don’t you?” 

Nadia laughs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, I do.” 

Lu pouts slightly, sitting down on Nadia’s bed and draping one arm around her shoulders. “Well, Valerio isn’t coming until later tonight, so you have me at least for a few more hours.” 

Nadia nods lightly before her face transforms into something a little more serious. “Speaking of tonight, Guzmán wants to take us out to dinner.”

Omar watches his sister, arching his eyebrows curiously. “How is he not here, by the way? I would’ve thought he would’ve picked you up at the airport and disappeared with you until it was time to go back to New York.”

“Oh, he wanted to, believe me,” Nadia sighs, a fond, exasperated look crossing her features. “But he has his final exam today and some urgent thing with his dad after, so I miraculously convinced him not to blow anything off and wait until the evening to see me.”

Lu looks astonished. “And he actually listened? Honestly, Nadia, getting Guzmán to do anything other than what he explicitly wants all the time is a fucking miracle. You’re an actual living miracle worker.”

“So I’ve been told,” Nadia mutters with amusement. “But yeah, the point is he wants to take us out to dinner tonight.”

Once again, Omar looks sceptical. “Us?” 

“Well, Lu and I,” Nadia amends. “But that’s because he doesn’t know you’re here. But since you are, you’re coming with us.”

Lu’s expression turns hesitant. “Don’t you guys want some alone time on your first day back?” 

“No, he insisted that you come with,” Nadia reassures. “Besides, we’ll have plenty of time to be alone, don’t worry.”

Omar yawns, barely able to keep track of the conversation or his eyes open. “I think I’m gonna skip dinner. I’m too tired.”

“Don’t you dare,” Lu threatens immediately, crossing the room in two strides and plopping down on Omar’s bed. “Omar Shanaa, if I have to third wheel my roommate and my ex, you better be coming with me.”

“Omar, you can take a nap now, but you’re going with us tonight,” Nadia orders him, leaving no room for discussion.

Lu purrs like an overexcited cat, her tongue peeking out between her teeth. “I love it when you get bossy.” Omar laughs lightly and Nadia flushes an unnatural shade of red. “Save some for Guzmán. He’ll love it.”

Nadia splutters for a moment but is saved from having to respond when Imán walks into the room with a tray full of food.

* * *

“Omar! Uber’s almost here!”

Omar sighs as he checks his reflection in the mirror for one last time.

For someone who hasn’t slept in nearly a day, he doesn’t look too bad. Sure, the bags under his eyes are especially visible, but his hair is exactly the way he likes it, styled just messily enough to fall slightly on his forehead but not overwhelm his face.

He sighs again as he grabs his jacket and finally heads to the front of the store, just in time to see the car pull up outside.

“OMAR, OUR RIDE IS—“ Nadia’s words immediately die out on her tongue when she finds Omar standing behind her with an amused look on his face. “Oh, good, you’re here.”

“May have lost hearing in one of my ears thanks to you,” Omar mutters, “but yeah. Come on.”

The car ride is almost enough to lull Omar back to sleep, so he straightens up and shakes his head forcefully a few minutes into it, needing some sort of interaction to keep him awake. “Where are we going again?”

Nadia shrugs. “I don’t know. I just copied the location Guzmán sent me on the app without even checking.”

“Wow, you’re really taking the whole trust-your-significant-other -implicitly concept to new levels, aren’t you?” Lu mutters.

Omar snorts.

“Of course,” Nadia answers unnecessarily. “Well, that and I didn’t really have the energy or motivation to do it,” she adds. “I love Guzmán but I so wish I was in bed right now.”

“Ditto,” Lu mumbles, dropping her head heavily on Nadia’s shoulder.

What Omar wants more than anything is to rest his head on Nadia’s other shoulder and pass out for a few minutes or a few hours or a few days. But it’s too late; they’re out of the house now, for at least the next few hours, so they might as well make the most of it.

“Hey,” he says instead, elbowing Nadia in the ribs. When she barely moves, Omar leans forward and reaches an arm across Nadia to shove Lu slightly. “Hey, come on, both of you.” Lu whines petulantly for a few seconds but straightens back up nonetheless. “We’ll have a few drinks, see Guzmán, eat some food and then go home to sleep. We’ll be fine. Lu, you and I have operated on hangovers worse than this, and Nadia, you slept, like, once every three days your first year at Columbia. We can do this.”

Omar is mildly aware that they’re making this far more dramatic than it actually needs to be. Still, Nadia nods to herself surely and straightens up.

“We can do this,” she echoes next to Omar, a small smile playing on her lips.

“We can fucking do this!” Lu repeats, taking it up a notch.

“Not that loud, Lu” Omar mutters, wincing and holding a hand to his temple.

Nadia erupts into a delirious sort of laughter next to him, and before they know it, Lu and Omar are right there with her. 

The driver pulls over not long after that, and Omar finally glances outside his window. His heart catches in his throat when he realizes exactly where they are, his whole body shutting down in panic. His insides suddenly feel like they’re made of lead, his heart is beating impossibly fast and he can feel the blood pumping in his ears.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers, but he’s already moving, slipping out of the car and shutting the door behind him, his body on autopilot.

Though he can’t see Lu on the other side of the car, he still hears her distinctive, aggressive groan. “WHAT?” 

The car drives off and Lu and Nadia walk over to meet Omar halfway.

Nadia looks at her brother with concern. “Omar?”

Omar swallows thickly, his eyes trained on the restaurant behind the girls, sweat beads collecting on his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me this is where we’re eating?” 

He sounds panicked to his own ears, enough for Nadia and Lu to finally look around long enough to notice exactly where they are.

“I— I didn’t even realize,” Nadia admits, shaking her head frantically. “I didn’t think to look, I—“

“It’ll be fine,” Lu interjects immediately, rubbing Nadia’s shoulder soothingly and reaching her other hand to hold Omar’s. When he doesn’t react, she squeezes his hand tightly, forcing his attention to her. “Hey. Omar. Babe, look at me.” So he does. “Just because this is Ander’s place, doesn’t mean he will be here,” she reassures. “You know Guzmán’s loyal like that. He always supports his friends in any way, so it makes sense that he brought us here. I bet that he eats here so much now that Ander and Rebe never feel like they need to be here for it anymore.”

“Right,” Nadia agrees, though she still sounds a little out of it, like she’s trying to convince herself, too. “Right. Lu’s right.”

“And even if he is,” Lu continues after a moment, “you can do this.” 

Omar gasps and shakes his head frantically, overwhelmed with the idea of Ander being there. He can’t see him. There’s nothing he wants more in the world, but he’s not ready.

“I’m not ready,” he voices his thoughts weakly, paling at the idea.

“Omar, yes, you can,” Lu counters immediately, cupping Omar’s cheek. “You’re a fucking badass. You’ve fought tooth and nail for everything you’ve done and have become. You came out to your parents when everything was against you, you juggle two jobs and are a published comic book artist, for fuck’s sake. All the while looking like a fucking dream. Like for real, if you weren’t gay, I’d be all over that shit.” Despite his nerves and his laboured breathing, Omar feels a small laugh bubble out of him. “You’re my fucking hero, Omar. And if Ander’s in there right now, you got this. You’re ready.”

Nadia rubs his back soothingly as Lu squeezes his hand again, and Omar finally starts to relax, the air coming easier into his lungs. He wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket, trying to get rid of the sweat that’s gathered there and pull himself together.

This is what he wanted, he reminds himself. Seeing Ander again was his biggest motivation to come back here. 

Did he expect he would have to face him on his first day back? No. But he’s done plenty of things he never expected and survived worse than seeing his ex unexpectedly. 

So he takes a deep breath, nodding lightly to himself. “We can do this.”

Nadia’s face softens into a smile and Lu looks at him with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Yeah, bitch, we can.”

* * *

Omar almost forgets about his nerves as soon as they step through the door, his senses immediately overwhelmed. The restaurant is basically full, or at least he thinks so, the loud chatter of people carrying over the music playing.

He doesn’t recognize the song but he can immediately tell Ander had something to do with the playlist. The rest of the restaurant screams Rebeka, even though he can’t see much of it yet, but the flashing neon “Oro” sign by the door is proof alone.

When Lu mentions they have a reservation under Guzmán’s name, the hostess smiles impossibly wide, greeting them with an excited “welcome home!” and leading them to their table.

Just as Omar imagined, every table is flanked by people, the bar in the far back so full that he can’t actually see any of the bartenders behind it.

There’s a good energy about the place – there’s even people dancing in one corner of the restaurant - and Omar has an almost impossible time trying to relate this space to what it was before. It almost feels like La Cabaña never existed.

As he cranes his neck to see as much of the place as he can, Omar can’t find Guzmán’s face anywhere. It’s only when he looks past the large glass doors that lead outside that he finally spots him, sitting on the only occupied table on the terrace, surrounded by several of their friends.

If Omar thought Ander would be the only unexpected face he would see tonight, then he was severely wrong. He can already make out Rebeka and Samuel and Valerio sitting on the same table as Guzmán, causing Omar’s heart to catch in his throat, for all the right reasons this time. He’s fucking missed his friends, even Valerio and his obnoxious ass.

He tries to make out Ander’s face too but he can’t, only his mop of curls visible from Omar’s vantage point.

As they approach the doors, Rebeka’s booming voice gets louder and louder, followed by Valerio’s laugh carrying through and Guzmán’s “ _Joder_ , Rebe!” heard distinctively loud.

They’re almost outside, now, and Omar thinks he might possibly faint with excitement and nerves. It feels like the longest five seconds of his life, really.

When they finally reach the patio, Nadia throws a sympathetic look at her brother, a silent question on her face. He knows she’s seen that Ander’s outside, too. Omar manages a small smile as he nods his head lightly, and Nadia finally looks away and walks out the glass doors with Lu.

Omar takes a deep, deep breath, shaking himself lightly and trying to calm his nerves before following them out. 

Valerio is the first one to notice them, his voice impossibly loud as he yells out “hermanitaaaaa” and claps excitedly, while Guzmán is the first out of his seat.

Omar can pinpoint the exact moment his friends realize that the person lingering behind Nadia and Lu with a giant grin on his face is not a waiter or some random dude, but someone they actually know quite well. He watches with mild amusement as their eyes collectively widen and they all start yelling over one another. 

He distinctly catches Samuel’s half-appalled-half-excited “YOU LYING SON OF A BITCH!”, but it’s overshadowed by Rebeka’s very uncharacteristic shriek as she jumps out of her seat, crossing the patio in two strides and rushing past Nadia and Lu to engulf Omar in a bone-crushing hug.

He can see Nadia and Lu getting attacked in equal fervour by their friends, but his attention is quickly recaptured by Rebeka’s screams in his ear.

“ _Cabrón_ , what the fuck are you doing here?” Omar winces, laughing and holding her close to him. Rebeka pulls back for a moment to look at him properly, cradling his cheeks warmly and touching his hair like she’s checking that he’s physically there before leaning forward for another hug. ”You’re really fucking here,” she marvels, her voice slightly lower than before but still way too loud for Omar’s poor ear. “How the fuck did you hide this from me? And how do you look so good, did you always look this good?”

Omar barely has time to react or answer because Samuel’s right behind her, almost forcing Rebeka off Omar and wrapping his arms excitedly around his best friend, mumbling a mile a minute about how he thought New York had kidnapped him for good.

Samuel is followed immediately by an overexcited Valerio, and then Guzmán, who finally lets go of Nadia long enough to acknowledge the other people around, swooping Omar into a giant hug and literally lifting him off the ground in his excitement.

Omar’s feet have yet to touch the ground when his eyes lock with Ander’s over Guzmán’s shoulder, the only person lingering in the back and quietly taking in the scene unfolding in front of him. 

Guzmán finally sets Omar down, and though he can hear everyone yelling around him about how Lu and Nadia managed to keep this a surprise from them, Omar’s entire attention is captured by Ander, the rest of the world slowly fading away until all he can see, think or feel is the boy standing a few feet away from him.

The Ander in front of Omar looks breathless, lips parted in a surprised but not entirely upset look. Most importantly, though, he looks _healthy_. His curls have grown back, a little shorter on the sides and a little longer down the centre, that same rogue strand falling down his forehead in defiance. Despite the dim lighting and the loose sweatshirt Ander’s wearing, Omar can see that he’s got more colour in his cheeks, more meat on his bones, more muscle in his arms.

Ander swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in the most familiar manner. It’s been two years since he’s last seen him and yet the urge to go up to him and hold him and tells him he misses him is as strong as it was on Omar’s last day in Madrid, and every day before that, and every day since. 

He doesn’t know how much of that he’s allowed to do, though, if any at all, so he remains frozen in place instead, watching as Ander approaches them carefully, eventually coming to stand right in front of Omar. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Omar thinks about the absurdity of this moment. He really hopes that his friends aren’t paying attention to them right now because he doesn’t want to think about anyone witnessing this unexpected standoff they seem to be having. 

He’s going in for the hug, Omar decides. 

He starts to lean in, but then he doesn’t, hesitating again, and he thinks Ander does the same. His mouth is too dry to form words, and he only watches as Ander opens his mouth to speak, no words coming out either. Again, his mind drifts to the absurdity of the moment, of them mirroring each other but neither really doing anything. He watches as Ander looks down at his feet, then at their friends still chattering loudly next to them, then back at Omar, and Omar decides that fuck it, he’s going for it.

He’s just going to lean forward just a little and reach out to hug Ander. He can do that. It’s fine.

It’s just a hug. It’s only a hug. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a hug.

Just as he’s made up his mind, Ander’s eyes flicker back to their friends, and Omar finally realizes their friends are talking to them now, Lu yelling something about how Ander still looks hot after all these years. 

And yeah, the spell is officially broken, Ander mumbling “it’s good to see you” before moving away from Omar completely and hugging Nadia and Lu.

Omar tries not to think about how easy that seems to come to Ander, but his heart sinks all the same. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Guzmán lifts him off the ground in another bear hug, yelling about how his favourite insomniac is finally in Madrid.

* * *

It’s like nothing has changed. 

Omar sits wedged between Samuel and Rebeka, trying to keep up with one ridiculous story after the other. 

It’s like everything has changed.

Omar is on one side of the table and Ander on the other, and they barely say two words to each other.

Everything _has_ changed. 

Valerio‘s in the middle of telling them some crazy story about running into one of his clients in a very compromising situation, when he mentions that he was out with Dani and Ander on that day. Lu, never one to let anything slide, demands to know who this Dani is, and suddenly four pairs of eyes turn to look at a flushing Ander who only smiles lightly, completely avoiding Omar’s inquiring gaze as Valerio offhandedly mentions that he’s Ander’s boyfriend. 

Ander has a boyfriend. And it’s not Omar.

* * *

_He closes the shop early to run to a nightclub on the other side of the city, stand in front of the VIP section for more than half an hour because stupid Ander has decided to stop checking his phone, drag Ander into the middle of the crowded dance floor once he does find him, and kiss the fuck out of him in front of everybody in the club including his sister, the guy Ander hooked up with literally three days before, and all of their friends._

_And yeah, as far as insane things Omar has done in his life go, that has got to be pretty high up there on the list._

_He can’t stop smiling, though, so it can’t be that bad._

_He plops himself down on a barstool as he waits for Ander to come back from the bathroom, ordering himself a beer and twirling on his stool for a moment. He watches Rebeka grind against Valerio on the other side of the room as Nadia smiles up at Guzmán nearby, looking flushed and a little tipsy._

_He’s not one to judge his sister if she wants to get drunk, but he should probably just keep an eye out for her when she wants to leave. He’s been doing this far longer than she has, so he knows how to help her sober up before they get home._

_He shakes his head as he smiles to himself in amusement, turning back to the bar, only to find the bartender standing there and staring. And yeah, Omar is not stupid, he knows what that look means, and sure, the bartender’s kinda hot, but right now the only hot boy on Omar’s mind is the stupid one with the curly hair and the hoop earring. The one that he was making out with mere minutes ago._

_So he smiles lightly, pretending not to understand, holding his beer up in cheers and downing half of it._

_Except that the bartender doesn’t really take the hint, leaning forward and propping himself on his elbows in front of Omar, a lot closer than necessary._ _“I’ve never seen you around here before. I would’ve remembered you.”_

_Omar is tempted to roll his eyes but he resists the urge, trying to remind himself that it’s not this poor man’s fault that Omar has zero interest in any of this excessively flirty energy he’s exuding._

_“First time,” Omar mumbles, trying not to sound too aggressive._

_The bartender leans even closer, licking his lips a little too excessively._

_Omar just stares back blankly, feeling almost bad for him. The bartender, clueless as ever, cocks an eyebrow and backs away to grab two shots and set them on the bar between the two of them, uncapping some fancy bottle from the rack behind him._

_“Well then, we gotta make sure you’re enjoying yourself,” he purrs as he pours the drink into the shot glasses._

_Omar really doesn’t care about any of this, and he’s about to tell him as much when a familiar voice cuts through the music, low and deep and practically growling._

_“He’s enjoying himself already, with his boyfriend,” Ander essentially barks at the bartender, plopping down on the empty stool next to Omar and dropping a hand on Omar’s thigh. Omar’s eyebrows disappear in his hairline, but before he can say anything, Ander leans forward and grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him forward and pressing a long, hungry, hard kiss to his lips. Omar returns the kiss with just as much eagerness, unable to stop himself from yelping and laughing into Ander’s mouth. Ander lets go of him long enough to turn to the stunned bartender. “Those shots are for us, right?” It’s less of a question and more of a statement. “And a beer.”_

_The bartender nods, finally getting the message, before he leaves to grab another beer._

_Omar wants to feel bad for him, but he’s surprised by how much he actually enjoyed Ander’s display. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide. He never thought he’d be into the possessive caveman thing, but Ander’s one step away from peeing on him to claim his territory and Omar is grinning like an absolute buffoon._

_The bartender gets Ander his beer, only sticking around long enough to get paid._

_Omar tries to school his features into a more serious look, keeping a firm eye on Ander._

_“I could’ve been interested, you know,” he says once the bartender is out of earshot._

_Ander’s face falls a tiny fraction, barely noticeable, but Omar sees it anyway. He’s getting good at reading Ander like that. Or at least he thinks he is._

_“I mean, I could call him back for you,” Ander manages, trying to keep his tone casual, but Omar can still see the slight unease on his face, his entire stance crisp and alert, and under any other circumstances, Omar would love to drag it out and tease him some more._

_Not tonight, though. Tonight, he doesn’t want any questions or uncertainties to remain between them. He wants Ander to know that he’s in._

_“Nah,” Omar shrugs. “I mean, you already told him I’m your boyfriend.”_

_Ander takes a sip from his beer, looking only slightly more hopeful. He scratches the back of his neck self-consciously. “I know we haven’t really talked about it yet but...”_

_Omar shakes his head, grabbing one shot from the counter and handing it to Ander before taking the other for himself._

_“We don’t need to talk about it,” he dismisses. “We’re together.” And yeah, it’s ridiculous that Omar can see the literal weight being lifted off Ander’s shoulders, his smile finally unburdened and true. They click their glasses together and down their shots, both of them wincing at the sour taste. Omar wipes his mouth with his forearm before catching Ander’s eye again. “Besides, I kinda liked seeing you be all jealous caveman and shit.”_

_Ander snorts, his cheeks flushing lightly, probably from a combination of too much alcohol and too much Omar, but his eyes twinkle with mischief. “Oh, yeah?”_

_Omar jumps off the stool, grabbing his beer and reaching for Ander’s collar. Ander stands too, grinning widely when Omar presses another kiss to his lips before leading them away to join their friends._

_“Yeah,” Omar tells him as they walk towards Rebeka and Nadia. “Next time, bring that shit out when we fuck.”_

_Ander cackles, unable to stop himself from throwing an arm around Omar’s shoulder and pressing a loud kiss to the back of his neck._

_Rebeka howls when she notices them coming, letting go of Valerio to throw an arm around Omar and pull him away from Ander._

_Ander’s grin is wide, his eyes trained on Omar. He watches Rebeka take a sip from Omar’s beer and rope him into dancing with her._

_“Will do,” he promises._

* * *

Just like that, Omar’s bubble bursts completely, the realization of just how stupid his idea of coming back this summer was finally dawning on him.

It’s been two years. What the fuck what he expecting?

He tries to keep a straight face, pretending not to notice Lu and Nadia’s concerned looks, and even when Ander is quick to add that he’s not his boyfriend, just a guy he’s seeing, Omar still feels like he’s slowly sinking into some dark and unknown place.

He leaves dinner early, blaming jet lag. 

No one argues, but he still has to refuse Guzmán and Rebeka and Valerio’s offers for a ride, insisting that it’s a short walk to the bus station and that he really does feel like walking. 

Samuel isn’t as easy to get rid of, stating he has an early shift the next morning and would much rather ride on the bus with him than leave later.

Omar can’t get out of there fast enough, promising to see them all very soon and trying his hardest to ignore Ander’s eyes on him.

Despite not having seen him in two years, Samuel still knows Omar by heart. He doesn’t force him to talk on the ride home, content to just sit next to him as they both prop their feet up on the empty seats in front of them, sharing a pair of airpods. 

Samuel plays the exact same playlist they used to listen to everyday on their way home from school, and Omar remembers that despite the absolute car crash that his night turned out to be, he’s home.


	6. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was starting to wonder if you were actually back in town or if that dinner was just a figment of my imagination.”

Much to his surprise, that night Omar gets a full night’s sleep for the first time in months. Maybe it’s the comfort of being in his parents’ home and in his old bed, or maybe it’s the sheer exhaustion of his trip back, coupled with last night’s dinner. Whatever the reason, he wakes up around noon, a little disoriented and with a stabbing pain in his head, but with a full night’s sleep.

It takes him a few long seconds of confusion to locate his whereabouts, the small living room he’s used to waking up in nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a familiar bedroom with a small work desk and a low ceiling.

He’s at home in Madrid, he remembers, flashes of the night before coming hard and fast.

His headache travels down his neck and arms, spreading to his hands, and then further down his body towards his stomach and thighs and ankles and feet, until everything hurts.

It’s a paralyzing kind of pain, heartbreak. But Omar knows how to deal with it by now. He’s had much practice since the day Ander pushed him out of his life.

He allows himself exactly five minutes to feel the pain. Five minutes to wallow in the misery of realizing that whatever he thought he would find when he came back isn’t really here. 

Ander didn’t just sit there for two years and wait for Omar, which is exactly what Omar expected of him. 

It’s the irony of it all, really. That Omar likes _this_ Ander; the one who wouldn’t just put his life on hold and sit around waiting for some guy a million miles away to come to his senses. Even if that guy’s Omar. 

When the five minutes are up, he forces himself out of bed. He washes up, inhales the food his mother makes him and takes some painkillers to get rid of his headache. 

He spends the rest of the day holed up at home with Nadia and his parents. They tell them all about New York, about their lives over there and Omar’s new job. 

Omar’s parents are expectedly sceptic about Omar’s line of work, not really understanding how he can secure a future without a university degree, but Nadia convinces them, as she always does.

She disappears into her and Omar’s bedroom for a few minutes when they raise their concerns, and comes back with a stack of comics, proudly showing their parents Omar’s name printed in every single issue, pointing out the pieces that she knows are Omar’s work and showing them the bits she knows they’ll like.

Omar feels an unfamiliar warmth when his father looks at him with what can only be described as pride, asking if he can keep them. Nadia nods immediately, running to the bedroom to bring some more issues, admitting that she has her own Omar shrine tucked away in her room in New York and that she brought these copies with her because she knew their parents would want to keep them. 

In turn, Omar gushes about Nadia killing it in New York and how, even though he doesn’t remotely understand what they’re studying nor does he really care about it, he’s got a front row seat to watch her and Lu continue to absolutely smash one academic record after the other at Columbia.

Yusef finally brings up the elephant in the room and mentions the tattoos a little after that, looking at Omar’s hand and arm with mild disappointment, but his features soften immensely when Omar shows him the tattoo hidden under his shirt. His mum takes the opportunity to tell them that May finally sent them a letter. That she says she’s good, and that she has a daughter that she named Noor and a job that she likes very much, and that she misses Nadia and Omar, and that she will visit them when she’s ready.

Sleep comes even easier that night.

* * *

Omar refuses to go out with Nadia and Guzmán the next day and ignores Rebeka’s invitation to go out for lunch on the third day.

He’s being stupid, he knows, because Ander’s not the only one he’s here to see. But try as he might, he cannot bring himself to actually leave the house or make plans or go anywhere or see anyone, preferring to spend his time holed up at home or helping his parents at the shop.

He needs time to grieve, he reasons with himself. To process things.

He’s not sure what he’s trying to process, is the truth.

* * *

On the fourth day, Omar is lying in bed quite miserably when Nadia walks into the room and tries to get him to go out to lunch with her and Lu. When he refuses again, she sighs deeply, plopping down on the bed next to him.

“Omar, you can’t stay holed up at home our entire vacation,” she reasons, an eerie reflection of their mum in that moment. “We’re only here for a little over a month.”

Omar sighs as he sinks further into his bed, hugging his pillow close to his chest.

“Yes, I can. I’m here to see mum and dad anyway,” he argues weakly. It’s partly true. “Besides, I’m not exactly on vacation. You know I still have to work and send out next month’s comics by the deadline.”

Nadia raises a pair of eyebrows, looking rather unimpressed. “And you’re doing that how, exactly? By staying in bed and staring blankly at the wall?”

“I’m just waiting for inspiration to strike.”

Nadia nods exaggeratedly, in that way when she does when she smells an insurmountable amount of bullshit. “You know, it’s funny.” Omar turns a pair of inquisitive eyes to her. “It’s just that when you’re suffering from a creative block in New York, your solution seems to be to sit on our fire escape and get high, or maybe go out for a walk around the neighbourhood, or hang out at the park with Tristan, or even go shopping for sneakers with Fae. And yet your only sources of inspiration in Madrid seem to be an old mattress and a dirty, blank wall. Promising stuff.”

Omar bites the inside of his cheek in amusement. “Did you just encourage me to get high?”

“If it means getting you out of this house, then yes,” Nadia responds, getting a little worked up. That puts Omar on edge, his attempt at lightening up the mood falling short. The thing is, he’s judging himself enough as it is. He doesn’t need someone else’s frustrations added to his own. “Don’t you want to see Samu? And Rebe? They’re all asking about you. Even Ander.”

Omar sighs again, straightening up. “Nadia, I’m sure I’ll see Samu and Rebe at some point.” Despite his current hesitation to venture out into the wild, he knows that he won’t leave Madrid before he sees his friends again. “I’m sure I’ll even run into Ander eventually,” he adds, because he will. Even if running into him means going out of his way to make sure he sees him again. “But let’s not pretend he cares—“

“He asked about you,” Nadia cuts him off. Omar’s head snaps up to her. That certainly catches his attention. “Twice already. He always asks about you.” She pauses, leaning a bit closer to her brother and looking at him with imploring eyes. “He cares, Omar. Maybe not in the way you want him to, but he does.”

Omar inhales sharply, feeling cornered all of a sudden. He throws the covers away, crawling away from Nadia and to the other side of the bed. “What do you mean not in the way I want him to?”

“You still love him, Omar.”

Omar shakes his head, getting even more defensive. “I don’t—“

“You do. And you want him to feel the same, and maybe he does and maybe he doesn’t, but--”

“No,” he tells her, getting off the bed and pacing his room frantically for a moment. He comes to a stop in the centre of the room, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. “I don’t—I’m not, anymore…” He trails off. “I don’t. And I don’t wanna talk about it, Nadia. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it and I don’t wanna think about it, because every time I do, it feels like my insides are trying to gnaw their way out of my skin and it doesn’t feel that fucking good. And talking about it doesn’t help. I just…” He feels the energy drain out of him all of a sudden, his next words burning his throat as he lets them out. “I just have to fucking move on.”

Nadia’s face melts into a softer look, her tone gentler when she speaks. “And you holing yourself up and isolating yourself from everyone is moving on?”

“No,” Omar concedes. “But it’s just about the only thing that makes me feel close to sane, right now, so please leave me alone. I let you deal with your shit however you want. Let me deal with mine the way I want.”

Nadia stares at him for a long moment before she sighs, defeated, and walks out of the room.

* * *

He’s manning the cash register at the shop the next day, when his dad asks him if he’s planning to stay home the entire day today too. 

Omar looks up from his sketchpad, immediately going on the defence. “Does that bother you?”

“Of course it doesn’t bother us, Omar,” his mother chimes in immediately, restocking the last of the chickpea cans on the shelf and walking over to him. “We’re just worried about you.”

Omar swallows thickly as he looks at his father. 

Yusef nods lightly, his face holding no resentment or anger, only genuine concern. 

“The boy we remember couldn’t wait to leave the house,” he tells him. “You were always itching to go out the minute you woke up. It was the reason for most of our fights.”

“I’m not the boy you remember, dad,” Omar mumbles. “I’ve changed.”

Yusef smiles thoughtfully, wrinkling his forehead. “And now I’m the one pushing you out the door. I’ve changed too.”

Imán looks at her son with soft eyes. “We love every version of you, Omar. And if you want to stay home until you return to New York, that’s up to you. You’re not a child anymore.”

Yusef nods again, walking over to Omar and taking a peek at his sketchpad. He points at a very rough sketch of a fire monster that Omar’s in the middle drawing. It still needs a lot of work and he’s not entirely satisfied with the effect of the flames, but the ideas are finally coming to him. 

“I like this one,” Yusef says, pointing at the sketch with a fond smile on his face. 

His mum takes a peek at the notebook, too.

“He looks a little like you, Yusef,” she teases.

Omar’s dad lets out a very uncharacteristic snort.

“Twenty five years together and she sees me as a fire monster,” he mutters under his breath as he walks back to his crate of oranges, causing Omar to chuckle lightly. 

His mother watches his dad affectionately for a moment before she calls out Omar’s name. When he turns to look at her, she smiles softly. “Remember we’re not the only family you have. Your friends are worried about you too.”

Omar’s thoughts drift to a birthday dinner a few years back, when his dad didn’t understand that family could ever be about more than blood.

What a difference a couple of years make.

Omar nods, the ache in his chest feeling slightly less sharp today.

* * *

“I was starting to wonder if you were actually back in town or if that dinner was just a figment of my imagination.”

Omar laughs lightly, looking up at Samuel with a guilty expression on his face.

After his talk with his parents yesterday, he realized how unfair he was being to everyone, especially himself. He’s doing exactly what he always faulted Ander for doing: bottling everything inside and isolating himself from everyone who cares about him.

So he got up this morning, got dressed and walked the short distance from his house to Samuel’s.

“Sorry. I just needed time to... process some shit.”

Samuel nods lightly, moving aside to let him into the house. “Are you about done?”

Omar exhales sharply, rubbing his face and deciding to go for honesty. “Not even close.”

Samuel leads him into the living room, plopping down on one of the couches and watching Omar throw himself on the other. 

His eyes are thoughtful when Omar looks at him. “Ander?” Omar sighs. There’s no point in lying, so he nods carefully. Samuel laughs lightly, causing Omar to raise his eyebrows at him. “Two years away. The whole of fucking New York at your feet. And it’s still fucking Ander.”

Omar snorts. He knows how ridiculous he is, thank you very much. He doesn’t need to be reminded of it.

“You’re one to talk,” Omar shoots back. “How’s _La Marquesita_? ‘She still out there finding herself or whatever while you wait around with macaroni like a good boy?”

Samuel grabs the nearest pillow and throws it at Omar. Omar catches it, laughing loudly. That was always his favourite thing about being friends with Samuel; there was never any real drama to it, and no matter how much time passed, they always fell right back into their dynamic.

When they settle down, Samuel turns a pair of serious eyes towards Omar. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Omar looks apologetic. “Not really. Do you?”

Samuel shakes his head. “Not even if you pay me. Do you want to get your ass whooped in Fifa?” 

He doesn’t even wait for Omar’s reply before throwing the controller over at him.

Omar grins widely. “Fuck yes.”

* * *

The next day, Omar’s manning the cash register at the shop again when something catches his eye across the street. 

His heart leaps to his throat as soon as he realizes who he’s looking at, absolutely sure he’s seeing things that aren’t there. 

Because if he’s not, then Ander is standing on the sidewalk right now, wringing his hands together in that very familiar way he does when he’s nervous, watching Omar with a small smile that only gets bigger when their eyes lock together.

It’s definitely Omar’s imagination playing tricks on him. It has to be.

But no matter how many times Omar blinks, Ander is still there, curls and earring and beauty marks and all. 

Omar blinks again, just to make sure, and when Ander is still there and smiling and fiddling with his fingers, it finally sinks in that what he’s seeing is not just a figment of his imagination.

Ander really is _here_.

Omar hears someone clear their throat and he finally remembers he’s not alone, his shock suddenly turning into an all-consuming fear. The kind that causes your stomach to lurch and your heart to still and your bones to ache and your skin to pale and your body to sweat.

It feels like he’s a 16-year-old kid again, terrified his dad’s going to notice the boy lurking across the street and find out he’s here for Omar, that Omar loves boys, that Omar is the disappointment he always knew he was. 

Omar closes his eyes as he struggles to breathe for a moment, shaking his head and forcing air into his lungs.

_It’s not the same as before_ , he reminds himself. _I’m not 16 anymore and dad knows about me. Dad accepts me._

When he does manage to calm his nerves enough to actually look at his father, he finds him watching Ander across the road, and he realizes with a jolt that Yusef’s expression doesn’t look angry or upset or disappointed at all. 

Quite the opposite, really, something softer about his features, a fondness and understanding Omar has so rarely seen on his father’s face.

Yusef clears his throat again. 

“I think someone’s here for you,” he tells Omar, nodding vaguely in Ander’s direction. “Go on, I’ll cover at the register.”

Omar narrows his eyes in confusion. He’s not sure what parallel dimension he stumbled into. His body operates on autopilot, though, nodding at his father and getting off the chair.

He wipes his hands on his shirt, feeling very self-conscious about the ratty hoodie he’s wearing all of a sudden. 

It’s stupid, of course. Ander always loved his ratty, old hoodies, anyway. 

* * *

_“For fuck’s sake.”_

_Here’s the thing. The fact that Nadia actually agreed to lie to their parents and leave the shop to help Omar study is a miracle in and of its own. So if Omar shows up late to the café, he’ll never hear the end of it._

_But he’s turned the room about three times looking for his grey hoodie, it’s nowhere to be found._

_He’s emptied the contents of his duffel twice, rifled through the few pieces he’s got tucked in Ander’s closet, and searched in the laundry bin, on the drying rack and even in that unholy pile of clothes sitting in the corner of Ander’s room - his sweatshirt is nowhere to be found._

_He sighs, rushing down the stairs. “Ander! Ander, babe, have you see my grey hood—“_

_Omar freezes in place when he walks into the living room, eyebrows pushing together as he watches Ander look up at him from his perch on the couch, a lazy smile forming on his face._

_Here’s the other thing. Omar hasn’t been living with Ander for long, but one thing he’s come to learn about him is that Ander has a rather alarming affinity for wearing Omar’s clothes. Specifically his hoodies. So it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise for him to find Ander wearing the grey cotton sweatshirt that Omar just essentially ransacked the bedroom in search of._

_Ander blinks up at him innocently. “What’s up?”_

_Omar groans. “Ander, are you gonna hog all my hoodies?”_

_Ander pouts lightly for full effect, dropping his phone to the side. “I’m not hogging them. We’re sharing them.”_

_Omar raises his eyebrows, looking rather unimpressed. “How are we sharing them if I never get to wear them?”_

_Ander looks affronted. “You wear them! Besides, it’s not my fault your hoodies are comfortable and always lying around and also you buy them three sizes too big so they fit me.”_

_They’re three sizes too big because most of them are hand-me-downs from his cousin, but Omar’s doesn’t tell Ander that._ _“So are yours!”_

_“So wear one of mine,” Ander replies simply._

_“I don’t want to wear one of yours.” Ander’s face is immediately overtaken by a highly offended expression. Omar’s tempted to laugh, but he softens up instead, watching his boyfriend with fondness. “I don’t mean that, I do want to wear your clothes.” He walks over to him and squats in front of the couch. Ander looks at him sceptically. “I do,” he promises. “I just didn’t want to today. I wanted to wear this one.”_

_“Okay, fine,” Ander agrees like a petulant child, his voice laced with bitter disappointment._

_Omar shakes his head, rolling his eyes fondly and reaching out an hand to stop Ander from taking it off._

_“I’ll find another one to wear,” he mutters, standing up and running back up to the room before Ander can do or say anything else._

_He grabs the first hoodie he finds, a teal, cotton one with a front zipper. It looks brand new. But then again, all of Ander’s hoodies look brand new, while Omar’s have stains and patches and thinning fabric from being washed way too many times._

_And, of course, it has that damn crocodile logo on the chest. Of course it does. As if Ander is physically capable of buying anything that’s not Lacoste._

_He throws it on and hastily zips it up, throwing his bag over his shoulder and shoving his phone and keys in his back pocket. He takes the steps two at a time, stopping by the living room for only a moment._

_He walks over to Ander, leaning forward to press a kiss to his mouth._

_“That colour looks good on you,” Ander compliments, shooting Omar a wicked smile._

_Omar shakes his head, flushing despite himself as he walks away. “Don’t forget you’re meeting me at Samu’s when I’m done.”_

_Omar doesn’t wait for a response, but as he closes the front door behind him, waving at Azucena in the driveway, he hears the faint sound of Ander’s voice echoing behind him._

_“Sir, yes sir!”_

* * *

Omar rounds the counter and is just about to exit the shop when he notices his father waving lightly at Ander before resuming his work. For a second, Omar is absolutely convinced he’s having some sort of all-sensory hallucination because Ander is waving back at his father, too. 

What the absolute fuck is this timeline he’s living in?

He shakes his head and finally crosses the street, coming to a stop when he’s on the sidewalk, right in front of Ander. He realizes belatedly that he’s still holding the ink pen he was sketching with, so he caps it and shoves it hastily in his pocket. 

Ander’s face lights up in a small smile, his eyes locking with Omar’s, and yeah, Omar is pretty sure his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

“This feels familiar,” Ander mutters.

Omar snorts lightly, his lips curving upwards. “I want to say yes, but there’s nothing remotely familiar about you and my dad waving to each other.”

Ander chuckles, the sound sending warmth through Omar’s body. 

“My flat isn’t very far from here,” Ander shrugs, like that explains anything. When Omar only looks at him with a slightly confused look, he continues. “The shop’s on my way home from the restaurant, so I stop by to pick up stuff sometimes.”

“And my dad hasn’t punched you yet?”

Ander grins. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

Omar shakes his head, still trying to wrap his head around it all.

“I honest-to-fuck don’t know how to react to you and my dad seeing each other behind my back,” he mutters. “That’s about the only plot twist I did not see coming.”

Ander laughs again, kicking his feet about and shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “It’s what happens when you disappear off the face of the earth for two years.” Despite the casual tone, Ander’s words aren’t very casual at all, and Omar’s face falls slightly. Ander winces, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, that was…”

“’S fine,” Omar dismisses immediately, waving his hand in the air. “I supposed it was deserved.” 

Ander shakes his head.

“No, I… no. It’s not,” he insists. “The phone works both ways.” Omar nods solemnly, taking the admission of guilt for what it is. Ander takes a deep breath and looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “You left really early the other night.”

Omar bites the inside of his cheek. “Yeah… I was just really tired.”

It’s not a complete lie. It’s just not a complete truth, either. 

Ander nods. “Yeah…” He trails off for a moment, clearing his throat lightly, before seemingly making up his mind and meeting Omar’s eyes again. “But also, maybe I didn’t make things very comfortable for you? You know, by barely talking to you at all, and practically sitting on a whole other table, and also mostly just silently staring at your like a creep.” 

He tries to lighten up his tone, a little forced smile coming through at the end, but Omar knows Ander well enough to know that’s how he copes when he talks about the hard stuff. 

“Maybe,” Omar admits, trying to meet him halfway.

Ander swallows thickly, looking down at his feet again. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells him, his eyes sincere. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you and suddenly you were there and I just didn’t…”

“It’s fine,” Omar dismisses again, interrupting Ander’s rambling. The last thing he wants to do is make Ander feel bad for being surprised by the ghost of his ex showing up out of nowhere. Omar doesn’t know what he would’ve done in Ander’s shoes, but he’s almost certain it wouldn’t have been pretty or even remotely tactful. “It’s not like I handled it that great either. And anyway, I really was tired,” he reassures. “I hadn’t slept in over a day.”

Ander nods. “So neither of us handled it that great. I guess…” He trails off again, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and squinting against the sun. “I guess we don’t really know how to go back to being friends.”

“We were never really friends, though,” Omar points out, his voice catching a little. “Were we? We went from strangers to fucking to star-crossed lovers to boyfriends to moving in together.”

Ander does laugh, the sound more bitter than amused. 

“I don’t think I even how to be friends with you,” he admits.

Omar wants to be upset, because it’s exactly the kind of thing he was worried about. That he’d come back here to discover that his and Ander’s baggage is way heavier than he thought. But he also can’t be upset because it’s the exact same way he feels.

“I know.”

“But I also know that seeing you again has made me realize how much I’ve missed having you in my life,” Ander continues in one breath, taking Omar completely by surprise. 

The sheer honesty in his eyes shocks Omar to his core, and he has no choice but to be just as honest in return.

“I’ve... I’ve missed you, too,” he tells him, the words coming out on their own accord, voice stronger now, clearer. And as soon as that first part spills out, so does the rest. “It’s been hard. Knowing you’re always _almost_ on the other end of the line.” 

Ander’s eyebrows furrow lightly. “Almost?”

“Like when I call Rebe and she’s not as obnoxiously loud as usual, which I know means you’re probably home,” Omar tries to explain. “Or when Guzmán gets a little flustered when I ask him what he’s up to and I know that means his plans involve you.” Ander nods, looking down at the ground with a small smile on his face. “It’s been hard, not telling them to put you on. Or not calling you and telling you about everything.”

Omar genuinely can’t believe he just blurted all of this out, but it’s too late to take it back. It doesn’t seem to push Ander away, judging by the resolute look on his face. In fact, Ander takes a step forward before stepping to the side and leaning his back against the wall next to them. Omar looks at him from the corner of his eye, but otherwise keeps quiet.

“So let’s try it now,” Ander suggests finally. Omar sends him a vaguely confused look. “You’re here now, so let’s try to be friends,” Ander clarifies. “We have the same friends and it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if we could all hang out together,” he adds hurriedly. “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you told me about New York, or about your tattoos.” He nods his head in the general direction of Omar’s hand, lips curving up a little as he eyes the red and yellow ink. “You finally got the Cavolo one you always wanted.” Omar think his heart might be about to burst. Ander actually remembers. “And Nadia tells me you’re drawing again,” he adds. “I still have all those doodles you used to leave on my bedside table.”

Omar can’t bottle in his happiness and relief at Ander’s words, suddenly filled with a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

“I guess it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I told you about that one day,” he agrees. “Or about the tattoo I got of one of my drawings.”

Ander’s eyes light up as his pushes himself off the wall. “No! You did what I told you? Show me!” Omar smiles as he reaches for the hem of his shirt before Ander’s eyes widen. “It is safe to show me in the middle of the street, right?”

Omar laughs lightly. 

“Yes,” he reassures, lifting his shirt to reveal the tattoo on his side. “I’m not you. I don’t get tattoos on my ass.”

“You can fuck off with that,” Ander shoots back, but he’s got a wide grin on his face as he leans forward to look at the tattoo closely. “Okay, fuck, Omar. It’s so good. That’s you and Nadia and May, right?”

Ander straightens back up and Omar swallows thickly as he nods, letting his shirt drop back in place. 

He forgot what it felt like to have someone know him so well. Not that his friends in New York don’t know him well, but he’s never opened up to anyone the way he did to Ander. He picks and chooses now, curates what he shares with the people he loves and keeps most things to himself. 

He never did that with Ander. No filter, no censorship. Nothing was off the table. He wanted him to know him inside and out. That’s probably why it hurt so much when they ended.

Ander rubs the back of his neck, eyes flickering to the ground for a moment. “Maybe you could tell me more tonight? We’re throwing Rebe a surprise birthday party at our apartment, and I know she would want you to be there.”

“I don’t really think Rebe wants to see me right now,” Omar tells him, but his chest fills with something that feels suspiciously like hope. “I’ve been avoiding her calls,” he admits, looking at his feet. “I’ve been avoiding everyone’s calls.”

“Trust me.” Ander nudges Omar’s shoulder with his until Omar looks at him again. “She wants you there.”

Omar smiles. “Maybe.” 

Ander’s eyes narrow, a mischievous look crossing his face. “Hmm, that’s a yes, then.”

Omar grins, the familiar words taking him back to all those years ago. He can almost physically picture Ander leaning against the door frame in his school uniform. “That’s an ‘ _I’ll check my schedule’_.”

Ander’s face lights up, seemingly reliving the same memory.

“I’ll text you the address,” he tells him as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Once you get to the street, the building’s pretty easy to spot. It’s the only one with red shutters. Be there by 8 at the latest. Or earlier, if you want. A bunch of people are coming by to help set up. I’m kind of shit at this party planning crap so we need all hands on deck. From 6 onwards.” He types something into his phone before looking up at Omar again. “You still have your old number?”

“Yep.”

Ander nods, swiping a few more times on his phone. “There,” he says at the same time as Omar’s phone pings in his pocket. Ander tucks his own phone back in place, his eyes locking with Omar’s again. “So I’ll see you tonight, then.”

Omar nods mutely, not really wanting Ander to go yet but not knowing what else to say. 

He swallows thickly, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat as he braces himself, but Ander doesn’t leave. His eyes flicker from Omar’s face to his hands to something behind him, moving lightning fast, like he’s fighting some invisible battle inside his head. 

When he seemingly makes up his mind, Omar thinks he’s about to leave but is instead surprised when Ander closes the distance between them entirely, wrapping his arms around Omar’s shoulders and leaning into him. 

Omar stands completely frozen for a moment, but he finally returns the hug just as Ander is ready to let go, his arms wrapping themselves firmly around Ander’s waist and keeping him in place. Omar can’t help but hide his face in Ander’s shoulder, the world around them wasting away as the familiarity of being in Ander’s arms engulfs him entirely.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Ander mumbles in his ear just before he pulls away, and Omar lets him, this time. Ander’s hand lingers on the back of Omar’s neck, then slides down to his shoulder, then his forearm, before he lets go of him completely and turns to walk away. He’s across the street when he turns to look at Omar one last time, smiling. “I’ll see you tonight!”

And then he’s gone around the corner.

Omar doesn’t say anything, only nodding like an idiot to no one in particular.

_What the fuck just happened?_


	7. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s always about Ander, with you.”

Omar is perfectly aware he’s going to spend the rest of the day analyzing every little second of Ander’s unexpected visit unless he keeps busy. 

The good news is that he has to submit the first draft of the new issue’s comic today if he plans on still having a job when he gets back to New York, so that’s how he spends the largest chunk of his morning

He helps his mum with lunch after, chopping vegetables and washing the dishes, and then gives his dad a hand at the shop, running inventory and restocking shelves for a few hours.

Even so, his mind keeps drifting back to Ander every few minutes, but all things considered, he thinks he does a pretty good job at keeping himself occupied. That is, until a little after 4, when there’s not much left for him to do anymore.

He texts Nadia to check what time she’ll be home, and he feels only a little hurt when she makes no mention of Rebeka’s birthday, only replying that she won’t be home until really late in the evening.

In her defence, he did tell her he wanted to be left alone. Nadia probably thinks she’s doing him a favour by keeping him in the dark about what he might be missing.

He decides not to tell her he’s going, just in case he changes his mind at the last minute.

He digs through his suitcase to find something to wear instead – he hates everything he owns, he decides – eventually layering a sleeveless striped cotton shirt under a purple button-down with the sleeves rolled up, dark jeans, and his favourite white sneakers.

He still hasn’t decided if he’s going to go early or if he’ll keep stalling until 8. He doesn’t exactly know who the bunch of people going early are. When Ander mentioned that, he automatically assumed Guzmán and Nadia and maybe Samuel would be involved, but what if they aren’t? What if it’s just a bunch of random people he doesn’t know? Worse yet, what if Ander’s boyfriend/guy he’s seeing is there and Omar can’t keep his damn feelings to himself? What if he fails at being Ander’s friend?

Going at 8 is safer.

But.

Well.

Ander made the first move and sort of asked him to be there early. Sure, it’s mostly because he probably really needs the help, but he didn’t have to. Omar’s pretty sure he could’ve told someone else.

So, really, it’s only fair that Omar gets there early, especially that he has nothing better to do. It doesn’t have to mean anything, he’s just there to help out a friend.

He ends up leaving the house at 6 and walking over to the bus stop. It’s fairly early, but (hopefully) not early enough that he’ll be the first one there. He can’t even imagine the level of horror if he gets there to find Ander and his boyfriend alone. It’s literally the stuff of nightmares. 

Ander’s street is only a few stops away from his house by bus, but it’s a long enough ride for the nerves to properly settle in Omar’s stomach. He finds himself standing in front of the building a little after 6:30, but by that time Omar’s palms are sweaty, the thoughts in his head whirring by at lightning speed. He stays there, staring at the red shutters of the building, unable to bring himself to climb up the steps to the entrance, let alone ring the buzzer to be let in.

It’s been a while since he’s felt such fear in the pit of his stomach. Not since he first moved to New York and realized he was well and truly without Ander.

He takes several breaths to calm his racing heart down, ready to walk up to the entrance and ring the buzzer, when he hears some rustling behind him.

“Omar?”

He turns around to find Lu standing behind him, her arms full of what looks like string lights. 

Aside from the cheap lights in her arms, she looks like she belongs on the pages of a fashion magazine, rocking a gold structured mini dress and red patent heels, her hair pulled up in a sleek top knot.

Omar’s face melts into a smile, his entire body relaxing immediately at the familiar presence. No matter how awkward or bad things get, with Lu there, Omar knows he’ll be okay. She knows exactly what to do to diffuse any sort of tension and can read him like an open book. 

He walks over and wraps his arms around her, squeezing her a little too tight. It’s in part because of how relieved he is to see her, of course, but it’s also because he only now realized just how much he’s missed having her around.

Lu squeezes him to her before pulling away and giving him a light peck on the lips, her eyes searching as she looks him over, as if sensing his unease.

“You look like a vision,” Omar tells her.

She smiles, looking him up and down, nodding with satisfaction. “Understated. I like it. And let me see…” She trails off, taking Omar by the hand and turning him around. “Yes. Good. These are you good butt jeans. You’re gonna knock him dead.” Omar huffs a laugh as he turns back to look at her, his heart in his throat. Lu walks past him and presses the buzzer to Ander’s flat. “Nadia didn’t tell me you were coming.” 

“Nadia doesn’t know,” Omar admits, shoving the gate open when it buzzes open and letting Lu in before following her inside. They wait for the elevator together and Omar wordlessly reaches out to relieve her of some of the lights she’s holding, ignoring her curiously raised eyebrow. “Ander invited me,” he explains after a moment, cracking under her gaze but trying to keep his tone casual, as if his thoughts haven’t been entirely consumed by that since the moment Ander showed up to see him. “Didn’t realize you’d be here early,” he comments after a moment, changing the subject and walking into the elevator after her.

“Honey,” Lu scoffs in her most Lu tone, “did you really think anyone could pull off an actual party without my help? I’ve been here for an hour, I just went down to get some stuff from Valerio’s car.”

Omar smiles, shaking his head. “My bad.”

Lu cocks an eyebrow, clicking her tongue. “So, Ander invited you, huh?”

Omar chuckles at her knowing gaze, but he’s saved from having to say anything when they reach the third floor and Lu walks out of the elevator. Omar takes a deep breath before following her, bracing himself. 

The door to the apartment is already open, Ander just about visible behind it. 

Omar’s entire body vibrates with sudden excitement, trailing after Lu and watching as she dumps the lights she’s holding into Ander’s arms. 

Ander barely reacts to her, looking over her shoulder to see who’s coming in behind her. His face lights up in a smile when he realizes it’s Omar. “You made it.”

Omar nods, returning the smile and stepping inside the house. 

Before he can say anything back, Nadia walks into the lobby, her eyes growing comically wide when she spots her brother. “Omar? What are you doing here?”

“Ander invited him,” Lu replies for him, raising her eyebrows pointedly at Nadia.

Omar rolls his eyes as Ander bites back a smile next to him. Lu isn’t being exactly subtle.

“And thank fuck he did, because it apparently slipped your mind,” Omar accuses.

Nadia narrows her eyes, walking closer to her brother and scoffing lightly.

“I’m sorry, I was letting you ‘deal with your shit the way you want’,” she shoots back, trying to mimic Omar’s voice as she crosses her arms defensively in front of her chest. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Lu gasps dramatically, raising a hand to her heart. “Did our little soft-spoken angel just use the word ‘shit’?”

Omar nods with a look of mock-disappointment. “She also told me to go find some weed a few days ago.”

Lu gasps even louder as Nadia’s expression turns absolutely horrified. “Context, Omar!”

Ander grimaces. “Does context really matter, though?”

“He’s right,” Omar agrees immediately. 

Nadia’s eyes widen cartoonishly. “Stop ganging up on me!”

“All I’m saying is the context doesn’t matter,” Omar shrugs innocently. “You literally told me to get high on the fire escape.”

Before anyone can say anything else, a huge clatter is heard from another part of the house.

Ander winces, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That would be Valerio in the kitchen.”

“ _Dios mio_ ,” Lu mutters, putting her hand to her head. “I’ll take care of it,” she reassures immediately, holding out a hand to keep Ander in place, before she grabs Nadia’s wrist. “Excuse us,” she tells them in her most hospitable voice, plastering a fake smile on her face before walking away and pulling Nadia along with her.

Omar and Ander linger for a few moments, watching in amusement as the girls disappear around the corner. 

Omar looks around the small lobby, noting the coat rack in the corner. He turns to Ander, balancing the lights he’s holding in his arms as he takes his jacket off. “Can I leave this on the coat rack?”

“Not if you wanna leave with it,” Ander replies, causing Omar to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Ander rolls his eyes. “I’ve too many jackets I like never make it back to the house whenever we throw parties around here, so I’ve just started keeping my friends’ shit locked in my room whenever we do,” Ander explains as he starts walking, presumably to his room, then slowing up to make sure Omar is following him.

Omar laughs lightly as he walks along. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah,” Ander tells him, stopping in front of a closed door. He grabs the jacket from Omar’s arms, eyes lingering on his face for a beat. “Rebe’s friends tend to get a little too plastered, but I’ll keep an eye on you.” 

Omar is more than thankful that Ander chooses that exact moment to turn around and open the door to his bedroom, because Omar is absolutely certain he would’ve seen his heart nearly jumping out of his chest otherwise. 

“Thanks,” Omar manages when Ander emerges back, locking his bedroom and shoving the key in his pocket. Ander nods lightly, smiling. Omar finally breaks their eye contact, clearing his throat and adjusting the string lights in his arms. “So, how can I help?”

“Guzmán and I are setting up the lights in the living room, if you wanna give us a hand?”

“Sure.”

He follows Ander to another room to find Guzmán perched on a high chair, already stringing up some lights to a curtain rod. Guzmán’s face lights up – no pun intended - when he spots Ander walking in with Omar, quickly jumping off the chair. 

“I was starting to think I’d have to lure you with pizza and weed at 4 am to actually see you,” Guzmán teases, immediately throwing his arms around Omar and once again tipping him precariously off the floor. Ander looks on with a smile, but Omar doesn’t miss the hint of confusion on his face, and neither does Guzmán. “He kept me company at all hours of the morning when I visited them in New York,” Guzmán explains when he lets go of Omar. “‘Turns out, you and Nadia aren’t the only things Omar and I have in common.” Omar’s heart may or may not skip several hundred beats at the idea of Ander being something he and Guzmán have in common. ”Insomnia, too. We ended up on their fire escape at the crack of dawn more often than not.” 

Ander smiles, unfurling the strings in his arms and handing one end to Guzmán. 

“I could’ve told you that,” Ander says as Guzmán climbs back up the chair. “Omar’s sleeping patterns are notoriously shit.”

Omar can’t hide his offended expression. “We can’t all go out like a light the minute our head hits the pillow.”

“Honestly, Ander, it’s not our fault you’re a freakishly good sleeper,” Guzmán agrees.

Ander grins mischievously “I need my beauty sleep. This face doesn’t happen by accident.” 

Omar and Guzmán both scoff loudly.

“Arrogant prick _,_ ” Guzmán mutters under his breath.

Ander laughs lightly before turning his attention to Omar “What’s with everyone bringing up your fire escape?”

“Omar’s den, you mean,” Guzmán corrects from his perch, hanging up another string of light and keeping one end firmly in his hand as he jumps off the chair and drags it to the adjacent wall. 

Omar shrugs as they follow Guzmán. “It’s the closest thing we have to a balcony. Our apartment is pretty small.” He pauses, looking around at Ander’s open living room; it’s almost bigger than his bedroom/living room, kitchen and bathroom combined. “Compared to this place, anyway.”

“It’s not _that_ small,” Guzmán objects. Omar raises his eyebrows pointedly at him, his eyes travelling around the room again. “Alright fine, it’s pretty small.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind it. I’ve lived in small houses for most of my life.” With the exception of Ander’s house, of course.“It’s just that I don’t have my own room, so the fire escape is literally _my_ _escape_ when things get a little stuffy.”

Ander nods his head lightly, a small, understanding smile on his face.

Guzmán snorts. “So you must’ve been feeling pretty stuffy the entire time I was there, huh?”

Omar grins. “It’s also the only part of the house where I’m allowed to light up. Besides, living with the girls is great, but they can get a little too much, sometimes,” he admits. “Especially Lu.” 

Guzmán’s eyes flash with a knowing look.

Lu’s muffled voice echoes around the house at that exact moment. “GUZMÁN! GUZMÁN NUNIER OSUNA, WE NEED YOU!”

“Count on Lu to never miss her cue,” Guzmán mutters under his breath as he steps down from the chair again. “I’ll be back.”

Omar continues to untangle the string of lights in his hands, but he doesn’t miss the way Ander’s eyes linger on him, his face giving away nothing. 

Omar finally looks up, locking eyes with Ander. “What?”

Ander shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Nothing.” He smiles, a little sad. “I’m just not used to Guzmán knowing more about you than I do.”

That nearly knocks the breath out of Omar.

* * *

_“Omar, come on. It’s just one afternoon.”_

_Omar sniffs the shirt he just took off and wrinkles his nose, throwing it onto the pile of laundry in the corner of the room._

_He really needs to get on that pile before Azucena finds it and decides it’s hers to wash. It’s enough that she’s allowing him to live here rent-free, driving him to school nearly every day, making him breakfast, lunch and dinner, and letting him sleep in her son’s bed._

_He pulls on his pants, peering up at Ander. His boyfriend is lounging on his bed, watching Omar change into his work uniform._

_“Ander, I know you guys are trying to mend your friendship, and believe me, I’m thrilled for you, but I don’t particularly feel like spending time with Guzmán when it isn’t strictly necessary. The guy’s a dick.”_

_Ander sighs. “Omar, he’s my best friend.”_

_Omar raises his eyebrows. “I know. Which is specifically why I told him about you and got the silent treatment from you for three days after. You only spoke to me when he showed up at the clinic,” he reminds him._

_Omar’s mind feels cluttered, all of a sudden, his head swimming with thoughts of how unhappy Ander seems to be around him these days, and how fed up with him he is; how he’s only with him out of some stupid sense of obligation; how with every new day, it feels like Omar’s presence in Ander’s life is adding to Ander’s distress instead of making it better, as it should be doing._

_He shakes his head, trying to chase the darkness away._

_“I just didn’t want anyone else knowing,” Ander mutters. “I didn’t want anyone else to worry.”_

_Omar sighs as he buttons his shirt up. He loves Ander more than anyone else in the world, but damn does that boy infuriate him with his insistence on taking everything on by himself._

_“I know,” Omar tells him, crossing the room to sit on the bed next to him. Ander immediately turns on his side to look up at Omar. “And I told you I’m sorry for outing you.”_

_“And I told you I’m sorry for being a dick about it,” Ander says. “I know you were only looking out for me.” Omar bends down to bury his face in Ander’s neck for a moment, pressing a kiss there and closing his eyes. Ander rests his forehead on Omar’s cheek, sighing against him and locking their hands together in Omar’s lap. “Look, I know Guzmán can be difficult.”_

_Omar scoffs. Understatement of the century. “He’s got anger management issues.”_

_Ander winces. “He’s overprotective, but he means well. He’s a lot less of a dick once you get to know him.”_

_“He wasn’t all that bad at the clinic,” Omar admits, playing lightly with Ander’s fingers in his lap. “And he got me coffee, which was nice, even if it had milk in it.”_

_Ander’s lips curve up in a small, lopsided smile as he nods. “And your sister likes him. Or liked. I don’t know, I can’t keep up with them.”_

_“I can’t either,” Omar says. He sighs, eyes meeting Ander’s again. “Alright, fine,” he agrees, and honestly it’s fucking worth it if only for the way Ander’s entire face lights up. Moments like these are so few and far in between with Ander these days, that Omar holds on to them with all his might whenever he can get them. “But only because Samu will be there, too.”_

_Ander pouts. “I’ll be there, too, you know.”_

_“Yeaaah,” Omar whines, “but the fuckboy in you reveals himself pretty aggressively when Guzmán is around.”_

_“Hey, fuck you!” Ander objects, grabbing the nearest pillow and smacking Omar on the face with it. “You fell for that fuckboy.”_

_Omar laughs, grabbing the pillow and throwing it behind Ander. “Yeah, I did.” Omar smiles fondly at him. The truth is that no matter how much time passes, Ander can still make him feel giddy and dumb and in love, especially when he’s smiling at like that, just as dumb and just as in love. “Okay, okay, I have to go.” He pushes himself off the bed and grabs his bowtie off Ander’s desk. He pulls his jacket and his shoes on before stuffing his phone and wallet in his pockets. He stops when he’s in the doorway, turning to look at his boyfriend. “Tomorrow’s what, Wednesday?” Ander nods. “No chemo,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. “Breakfast together before school? I’ll make you those honey pancakes you like so much.”_

_Ander doesn’t eat all that much these days, they both know it, but it feels okay to pretend for a bit._

_Ander is on the same page, it seems, because he nods and shoots him a small smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

_And fuck Omar’s mind for betraying him like that but for a moment, he thinks that maybe he won’t. Ander looks so fragile on his bed, so pale, his voice so weak, that for a moment Omar thinks that maybe his boyfriend’s ready to give up, and it’s nearly enough to keep him there, to hell with work and needing money to survive. He needs Ander to survive._

_But it’s just a fleeting moment, as they so usually are, and Omar manages to shake the dark thoughts away, blinking several times to keep himself together._

_He shoots Ander one last smile before he walks down the stairs._

_They will have breakfast together tomorrow._

* * *

When they were together, Ander always wanted Omar and Guzmán to hang out and get along. It’s just that he probably didn’t think that they would become friends _without_ him, Omar realizes.

He hesitates for a bit, wondering if he should apologize for it, but it feels really stupid. Ander would probably laugh at him if he suddenly were to say _I’m sorry for getting along with your bff after we broke up_.

But then he considers Ander’s words again. 

Maybe Ander is not upset that Guzmán knows Omar that well. Maybe what he’s upset about is that _he_ doesn’t know Omar that well anymore. 

Omar hesitates for a moment, but then he blurts out the first and only words that come to mind, because fuck it. “Maybe we can correct that.”

Ander swallows thickly, but otherwise remains quiet, his eyes flickering all over Omar’s face. 

Before he can do or say anything, the doorbell rings and Ander goes to open it, leaving Omar alone with his lights.

* * *

The surprise goes off without a hitch. 

By the time Samuel rolls in with Rebeka, Lu has completely turned the place around. There’s a proper booze corner in the living room complete with an actual snack buffet, a dance floor, a sound system with spinning decks, and lights _everywhere_.

In true Rebeka fashion, she starts talking smack the minute she walks into the house to find everyone there for her, thanking everyone and telling them to resume their partying in the same breath. She makes a beeline for Ander, knowing he’s the one responsible for whatever this is in the first place. She hugs him tight and brags loudly about how she’s got the hottest housemate in Madrid, ruffling his hair and once again making sure he knows that if he ever decides he’s not actually gay, she’s the first in line.

She continues to make her way around the room, thanking some people and hugging others, until she spots Omar lingering a little in the back. Omar hears her whistle under her breath even over the music and the buzz around them, walking over to him, lips curving up one side. 

“Look at that. Even the New Yorker made it.” 

Despite her light tone, Omar can hear the thinly-veiled hurt in her voice. She’s masking her unease with a sharply-aimed dig as she so often does, but she reaches for him anyway, squeezing him in a brief hug before she lets go and continues her rounds.

While Rebeka hops from one group to the other the whole night, Omar spends much of his time with the same group of friends. He sits and laughs with Ander on the couch, dances sandwiched between Valerio and Lu, drinks shots with Samuel and Ander, and grins at how sickeningly happy Nadia and Guzmán look all the fucking time, and even though it’s loud and crowded and sweaty and Omar’s well on his way to drunk, it’s the most at peace he’s felt in months.

He needs a moment to himself, he decides at one point, pushing himself off the couch and walking over to the balcony. 

He doesn’t notice the way Ander’s eye trail after him as he leaves.

A couple of people are already on the small balcony, but they only smile drunkenly at Omar before they walk back inside and leave him out on his own. It’s better, if he’s being honest, because the balcony’s pretty narrow as it is. He lights up a cigarette, taking a drag and closing his eyes.

He hears a commotion behind him and looks over his shoulder to find Rebeka following him out, a lopsided smirk on her face. “Got room for one more, kid?”

Omar grins, scooting over to make space for her. She leans against the railing next to him, reaching for his cigarette and taking a drag. 

She blows out some smoke into ringlets, watching as they grow and grow and grow until they disappear completely. 

Darkness has completely settled around them, streetlights illuminating the narrow alleyways around the building. There’s a bunch of teenagers standing at the corner of the street, talking and laughing loudly, but their voices are drowned out by the muffled sound of music coming from inside the house.

“It doesn’t matter how big the world is and how many beautiful places there are,” Rebeka mumbles thoughtfully as she looks far off in the distance, “there’s nowhere quite like Madrid.”

Omar’s lips spread in a small smile, taking back the offered cigarette from her. “I’m not gonna argue there.”

Rebeka clicks her tongue, cocking up one eyebrow and half-turning to level Omar with a mildly surprised look. “You’re not? Thought you’d jump to New York’s defence.”

Omar shakes his head. “New York is amazing,” he says simply. “It’s the biggest place I’ve ever been. It’s free and wild and loud and strange and beautiful.” Rebeka’s eyebrows nearly disappear in her hairline, an amused smile on her face. Omar pauses, blowing out some smoke. “It’s still not Madrid.” 

Rebeka nods, grabbing the cigarette again and turning back to look at the streets below them. “You can take the boy out of Madrid…”

Omar huffs a laugh, nudging her shoulder. “I’m sorry I pretty much blew you off this entire week.” He can’t even mask the guilt in his voice. “It’s just been a weird few days and my head is all kinds of fucked up.”

“You’re here now,” Rebeka says dismissively, like that’s all that matters. She wags her eyebrows at him with mischief, tongue peeking out between her teeth as she eyes Omar up and down. “And you look too good for me to hold a grudge.” Omar barks an amused laugh, bumping their shoulders together again. “You’re too important,” Rebeka adds after a moment, her face sobering up in a way it so rarely does. Omar looks at her curiously, and she shrugs. “When your mother deals and kills and steals and chooses all that shit over you, you learn what really matters and what to forgive.” Omar’s stomach twists uncomfortably. “You pulling off a disappearing act for a couple of days because you freaked out is something I can easily forgive.”

Omar nods. “I know. But it doesn’t give me the right to treat you like shit just because I’m going through some stuff.”

Rebeka turns around until her back’s against the railing. “Let me guess. Ander stuff?”

Omar groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “’That obvious?” 

“It’s always about Ander, with you,” she tells him matter-of-factly, grabbing an ashtray hidden in the corner of the overhanging plant pot and stubbing the cigarette’s butt in it.

Omar turns to mirror Rebeka’s posture, leaning his back against the railing too and propping his elbows on either side of him.

He wants to argue, but he can’t. She’s right.

He sighs. “It shouldn’t be. Doesn’t he, like, have a boyfriend?”

Rebeka scrunches up her nose. “I wouldn’t exactly call Dani his boyfriend. As far as I know, they hook up a lot, but he rarely ever brings him here. I’ve only ever seen him when we’ve gone out, and it’s always when we’re in a big group. He doesn’t usually bring him when it’s just us and Guzmán and Samu.” She pauses, eyeing Omar. “Although, full disclosure, I’m surprised he’s not here tonight. He was here the last couple of parties we threw.”

Omar swallows thickly, mulling her words over. 

So, Dani isn’t exactly Ander’s boyfriend, but he is _something_. Something that Omar is not.

“Right,” he mutters, because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

Rebeka stares ahead as she speaks her next words. “But you know, when I think about it, it makes sense.”

Omar’s brows push together as he looks at her profile. “What does? Him not being here?” 

Rebeka nods. “Ander hides it much better than you do, but I’ve known him a long time. I live with him.” Omar only stares at her, growing more confused by the second. She finally turns to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s always about you, with Ander.”

* * *

They head straight back to their little group of friends when they walk back inside, Omar’s thoughts filled with Rebeka’s words.

Maybe this whole thing isn’t as hopeless as he imagined. 

He came to Madrid with the intention of finding a way to move on. He told Tristan as much. 

But maybe that’s not his only option. Maybe there’s an argument to be made about him and Ander building their way back to whatever they had. 

As if sensing him coming, Ander looks away from Guzmán, eyes finding Omar immediately in the crowd and lips curving upwards. 

Omar smiles back, making a beeline for him, but is distracted midway by someone nearly tackling him to the ground in a hug. Omar manages to awkwardly untangle himself enough to peek at the man currently holding on to him, and he’s met with a face full of dimples and a loud obnoxious laugh. 

“So you’re back in town and you don’t pass by to see your favourite customer?”

Omar laughs as he finally registers Christian wrapped up around him, straightening up to return the hug, genuinely happy to see him alive and on his own two feet. 

Christian lets go of Omar and walks over to Rebeka, yelling out semi-apologies for being late and wagging his eyebrows as he tells her he was a little busy doing, um, things. Eventually, he ropes her out onto the dance floor, Valerio already there jumping circles around everyone.

Omar settles back into his spot next to Ander, his eyes transfixed on the dance floor as he watches his three friends dancing together with a mildly horrified expression on his face.

“The three of them terrify me when they’re together,” Ander mumbles next to him, as if reading Omar’s mind. 

Omar manages to look away from the car crash in front of him long enough to turn to Ander, breathing out a laugh and reaching for the bottle of rum on his other side.

“I didn’t even realize they knew Christian,” Omar admits, filling his and Ander’s shots. Lu and Samuel immediately throw in their empty glasses as well, and Omar tops them up.

Ander shrugs. “You know Christian. He just whirled back into town and took all of five minutes to catch up on everything he’s missed and warm his way up to everyone.” Lu rolls her eyes next to Ander, but Omar doesn’t miss the hint of affection on her face. “To terrifying friends.”

Omar, Samuel and Lu smash their shots against Ander’s before downing them, Lu chasing hers with a sip of champagne. 

They hear some loud screaming over the music and look up to find the threesome from hell ushering them towards the dance floor. 

Lu stands up first, looking at the three boys. Nadia and Guzmán are nowhere to be seen. “Alright, bitches, if I’m gonna join Satan’s triplets in their doomsday dance, you’re coming with me.”

Omar laughs as he lets himself be dragged by Lu, clasping his hand with Ander’s and pulling him along.

* * *

Nadia and Lu send him a bunch of videos and pictures from the party when he’s home, and Omar lies in bed, going through them and smiling to himself. He keeps going back to one photo in particular, of him and Ander deep in conversation on the couch, eyes only focused on one another and smiles wide and happy. 

He wants to post it on his Instagram, but he also doesn’t want to read too much into it or make a big deal, so he ends up posting it in the middle of a set of other incriminating footage from the night, including a video of him, Rebeka and Valerio grinding together on the dance floor, another one of a wildly-drunk Samuel throwing his arms around Omar and obnoxiously kissing his face, a picture of him crammed on the balcony with Ander, Rebeka and Christian as they smoke, and a bunch of selfies with Lu.

He’s barely added the post when his phone pings with a bunch of likes and comments, including the curious-looking emoji from Fae and an all caps “YOU LOOK GREAT AND HAPPY AND HOT AND I DON’T LIKE THIS COME BACK HOME I MISS YOU” from Tristan.

Omar laughs to himself before he drops his phone on the bedside table. 

When he falls asleep, his head is filled with thoughts of how he is already home.

* * *

It becomes easier for Omar and Ander to spend time together, after that.

They’re never alone, and things are far from normal, but they seem to fall back into their dynamic so much easier than Omar anticipates. 

He gets to have fun with Ander again, and joke around with him, and even flirt with him, on occasion. 

But he also learns to curb some of his impulses: he sits on his hands whenever he has the urge to reach out and touch some part of Ander; he gets used to greeting him with a wave, a one-armed hug or some form of a fist-bump instead of a kiss; and most importantly, he masters the art of keeping a blank expression on the rare occasion that Dani is mentioned.


	8. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I kept pictures too. I just hide them better than you do.”

He makes plans with Rebeka about a week after the party.

Except that when Omar gets to her apartment on the day of, it’s Ander who opens the door to let him in.

He looks boyishly handsome today, his curls more pronounced than usual, dressed down in a grey cotton t-shirt, blue shorts and white socks.

Omar is a little taken aback by it all. “You’re not Rebeka.”

Ander raises his eyebrows in amusement as he takes a sip from the mug he’s holding, moving away to let Omar inside. 

“Good morning to you too,” he mumbles as he shuts the door behind him. “Still as observant as ever, I see.”

Omar chuckles. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting to see you. You said you had some stuff to do this morning.”

Ander smiles, leading the way. He’s currently got a laptop open on their living room balcony, a light breeze blowing the curtains softly on either side of the open doors. He sets his mug next to the laptop, gesturing for Omar to take a seat on one of the chairs around the table.

“I was supposed to have breakfast with mum but she had a meeting run late so we rescheduled,” Ander explains. “Coffee? Rebe’s not up yet.”

Omar nods mutely, throwing his backpack on the floor and sitting down, watching as Ander smiles before he disappears somewhere inside the house. Omar tries not to read too much into the fact that he and Ander are basically alone right now, and that Ander seems to be more than fine with it. He almost seemed to be expecting it, really.

Ander comes back and places a mug in front of Omar before he slips into the empty chair in front of the laptop.

“Thanks.”

Ander nods with a small, lopsided smirk as Omar takes a sip from the mug. He smiles to himself when he realizes Ander still remembers how he likes his coffee.

“Black with two sugars,” Ander says, as if reading his mind. “Right?” Omar bites the inside of his cheek, a familiar rush of excitement and warmth coursing through his body. “You mind if I get some work done? I just have a few things to deal with for the restaurant.”

Omar gestures vaguely for Ander to go ahead. “I thought you were more like a silent partner or whatever they call it.”

Ander types something into his laptop as he shrugs. “I was supposed to be, but Rebe kept asking for my input because she wanted to make sure I didn’t feel uncomfortable with anything she was doing, so I started getting more involved. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she still does most of the work, but I’ve started taking over some stuff.” He looks at Omar with a small, almost shy smile on his face. “Turns out I’m actually good at some of this.”

Omar can’t help but beam with pride.

“I don’t doubt it,” he tells him, reaching out for his backpack on the floor and fishing out his old sketchbook and ink pens, just about the only things he’s actually got in there. It’s his favourite sketchbook, a thick, leather-bound one he’s kept for years now. He doesn’t always use it for work, but he already submitted this month’s comic and is now working on ideas for the next issue, so it’ll do. “So no uni?”

Ander shakes his head. “It’s not my thing. Rebeka didn’t wanna go either.” He pauses, looking over his laptop curiously, trying to peek at the now open sketchbook in front of Omar. “Can I see?” 

He scoots his chair closer even before Omar says yes, craning his neck to check out what Omar’s working on.

Omar smiles and pushes the sketchbook closer to Ander before also scooting his chair closer, until he’s sitting side by side with Ander.

Ander grins as he takes in the roughly-sketched monster on the page, a human skeleton on the upper half with fleshed out octopus tentacles for legs. He almost looks like he’s wearing a full-blown skirt, which is about Omar’s favourite part, because he really can’t think about anything more ridiculous than a monster in a Victorian dress.

“It’s a rough draft,” he murmurs, suddenly feeling nervous with Ander scrutinizing his work.

“It’s really good,” Ander tells him with unmistakable awe. “He almost looks like he’s wearing one of those poufy corset dresses.”

Omar feels a huge smile creep onto his face. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”

Ander looks at him with an almost reverent look on his face. “Can I look at some others?”

Omar nods without thinking, watching as Ander starts to rifle through the sketchbook, lingering on some pages more than others, smiling in all the right places and commenting on a few random sketches.

The further back he goes, the more the sketches feature a familiar curly-haired boy, and Omar is not sure he wants Ander to go that far back. He knows for a fact that there’s an embarrassing amount of sketches of the two of them the farther he goes back. He’s just about to reach for the sketchbook when Ander opens to a page bookmarked with a photo. There’s nothing special about the page itself, just a few random doodles of Omar with Nadia and May, but it’s the picture that causes Omar’s heart to jump to his throat. 

It’s the Polaroid he took from Ander’s place the day he moved out.

Omar can’t fucking breathe, wondering what the fuck is going through Ander’s mind as he stares at the photograph wordlessly for what feels like ages, before placing it back in the centre of the page and rifling through the sketchbook to find the page Omar was initially working on. 

“Sorry,” Omar mumbles, not really sure what he’s sorry for, exactly. For having a picture of Ander? For not hiding it well? For forgetting it was in the sketchbook in the first place? “I…” he trails off, finding no words.

“It’s fine,” Ander reassures immediately, taking a sip of coffee and turning the laptop towards him, but not scooting away from Omar. “I’m kinda flattered you have my picture in your sketchbook,” he teases, lips curling upwards on one side as he eyes Omar.

Omar feels relieved to say the least, a laugh bubbling its way up his chest, glad for the general lack of awkwardness. “Don’t be. I forgot this was even in here.” 

Ander grins. “What matters is that it is. I mean, I don’t blame you,” he adds quickly, shrugging his shoulders. “I’d want a picture of me in my sketchbook too.”

“You’re actually the worst,” Omar replies, but he can’t keep the grin on his face at bay. “The absolute worst. Like, I forgot how much of an arrogant shit you are.”

Ander shrugs again, his lips pursed in amusement. “And yet you have a picture of me in your sketchbook. That says more about you than about me.”

Omar feels himself flush, shaking his head as he laughs and looks away from Ander. 

“Dickhead,” he mutters under his breath, but his chest feels light, like he might float away.

Ander starts typing on his computer again as Omar goes back to his sketchbook, pretending to focus on adding some more details to his skeleton-octopus hybrid.

“I kept pictures too,” Ander admits after a few minutes. Omar’s head snaps up to him, wondering if he heard him right. “I just hide them better than you do.”

Ander keeps his eyes strictly on his screen, avoiding Omar’s gaze. Omar smiles to himself after a moment, but before he can do or say anything, he hears the pattering of footsteps and looks behind him to find Rebeka making her way over to them in an oversized t-shirt, her hair piled messily on top of her head and a coffee mug already in hand.

“Morning,” she mumbles as she rubs her face. She ruffles Ander’s hair and grins when he tries to swat her prying hands away, before she bends down to press a kiss to Omar’s lips. She pulls the third chair around the table out and plops down on it. “What did I miss?”

Omar bites the inside of his cheek, a small smile playing on his lips as he looks down at his sketchbook.

* * *

_“You two look all domestic and cosy.”_

_Omar looks up from his textbook to find Rebeka walking into Ander’s living room, a teasing smile on her face._

_His eyebrows push together before he throws his boyfriend a slightly confused glance. Ander is looking up from his phone at Rebeka, but otherwise still propped on the couch and using Omar’s side as his own personal pillow._

_Omar racks his brain, trying to figure out why she’s here. They don’t have plans, and it’s not like Rebeka to show up unannounced. In fact, she doesn’t ever show up, not to Ander’s house anyway. They hang out at her place or meet up at the club, but Omar’s pretty sure she’s never visited him at Ander’s before._

_“Hey,” Ander greets, his lips curling up in a small smile._

_And that, in itself, is pretty alarming, because Ander isn’t really friends with Rebeka. At least not as far as Omar knows. He tolerates her for Omar’s sake, but for the most part, she’s too “out there” for him._

_Omar shakes his head, blurting the first question on his mind. “What are you doing here?”_

_“It’s great to see you too, sultan,” Rebeka teases, winking exaggeratedly at him before she turns her attention to Ander. “Saved Nadia’s notes for you, since you missed some classes after you left. And I was in the neighbourhood so I thought I might as well drop them off.”_

_Omar wrinkles his nose. “You live on the other side of town. Also you could’ve mailed them.”_

_“Ah, yes, always so excited to see me,” Rebeka mutters, her tongue peeking out of her mouth playfully as she looks at Omar. Ander shakes his head, muttering a thanks and reaching for the notes. “Right,” Rebeka adds after a moment, swaying a little awkwardly in place, “well, now that that’s done, I might as well...” she trails off, pointing vaguely in the direction of the front door._

_“Stay, since you’re already here,” Ander tells her. “We were gonna go out to the backyard in a bit. Maybe light one up, if you’re up for it.”_

_Rebeka cocks her eyebrows up. “Your mother, who also happens to be my principal, is in that backyard.”_

_“Don’t worry about her,” Ander dismisses, waving his hand vaguely in the air. “She’s a lot cooler at home than she is at school.”_

_“She’s pretty cool at school too,” Rebeka allows. “It’s the puppet masters controlling that shit show who are the real dicks.”_

_Ander huffs a small smile, nodding lightly. “So?”_

_Rebeka shrugs, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Yeah, okay, that sounds cool.”_

_Ander straightens up completely, turning to look at Omar. “You done studying?” Omar’s pretty sure he’s not done, but he also doesn’t really understand what’s happening right now and is sure he won’t be able to focus on any of it anyway, so he just nods dumbly. Ander stiffens for a moment, looking slightly uncomfortable. He throws a subtle glance at Rebeka before he turns to Omar again. “You mind getting the stuff from my room? I’m too tired to go up right now.”_

_Omar doesn’t need to be told twice, of course. His mind might be cluttered with trying to figure out when Rebeka and Ander became so friendly and if she knows about his cancer, but right now none of this matters, because Ander needs him._

_He nods, automatically reaching a hand to cradle Ander’s face for a moment before he remembers Rebeka’s there and Ander isn’t particularly big on PDA. Especially not when it makes him look vulnerable in front of other people. So he drops his hand immediately, surprised to see Ander’s head lean slightly in the vacated space of Omar’s hand, almost like he wanted it to remain there._

_“You guys go outside, and I’ll meet you there in a second,” Omar tells them, resisting the urge to help Ander stand up._

_Rebeka nods but otherwise doesn’t say anything, peering down at Ander and watching him push himself off the couch. Omar doesn’t linger to analyse her look for too long, making his way up the stairs and to Ander’s room. He grabs their stash from the bedside table and runs back downstairs._

_He stops by the kitchen to grab an apple, a couple of chocolate bars and some water from the fridge before he makes his way outside._

_They’re all outside, Azucena sitting at the table on one side, poring over some papers and her tablet, Ander and Rebeka sitting side by side on a couple of lounging chairs on the other end of the yard._

_Omar walks over to Azucena first, handing her the apple and shooting her a smile when she looks up at him gratefully._

_He then moves to Ander and dumps the stuff in his lap before moving to grab a chair, but Ander grasps his arm, sitting up straighter on the lounging chair and squaring his legs under him to make room for him. Rebeka does the same, and Omar makes sure the two beds are side by side before he climbs on the tanning beds and sits squarely in the middle, facing Ander and Rebeka. He nudges Ander’s legs until the latter gets the hint and unfolds them again, nudging Rebeka to do the same, so that both of them can stretch their legs comfortably on either side of Omar._

_“So, did you do the thing you wanted to do?” Ander asks as Omar props the stash box on Ander’s knee and uses the lid as a tray._

_He looks up at Ander in question, only to realize that he’s talking to Rebeka._

_Omar doesn’t have it in him not to ask anymore, so he jumps in before Rebeka can say anything. “Okay, not that I’m not thrilled about this development, but how come you two are okay hanging out now?”_

_Rebeka shrugs. “I wore him down with my incessant flirting.”_

_Ander snorts lightly, looking rather amused. Omar doesn’t say anything, looking at the two of them._

_Ander bites the inside of his cheek, eyes trained on Omar’s, his voice careful when he utters his next words. “Rebe went to the clinic with me when I got the treatment plan.”_

_That certainly gets Omar’s attention. He stops licking the rolling paper. “I’m sorry, what?” He turns an accusing stare at Rebeka. “You knew?”_

_“I wanted to tell you, I swear,” Rebeka tells him immediately, looking quite guilt-ridden as she straightens up._

_“She did. I told her not to,” Ander chimes in._

_Omar turns his attention back to his boyfriend, unable to hide his hurt._ _“You told Rebe and you didn’t tell me?”_

_“No, he didn’t tell me,” Rebeka replies._

_“I didn’t tell anyone,” Ander says at the same time._

_Omar’s eyes flicker bitterly between the two of them._

_“I saw him,” Rebeka starts to explain before she clears her throat, trailing off._

_“I sort of, um, broke down at school,” Ander admits eventually, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. “Rebe saw me and she knew something was up. It’s a lot harder to pretend you’re fine when someone catches you crying in the hallway.”_

_Omar hates that Ander even has to go through something like this, that he would rather break down in a school hallway than talk to him, that no matter how much he wants to be there for Ander, his boyfriend doesn’t ever seem to let him in completely._

_He swallows thickly, trying to keep the emotions at bay. “You broke down at school and you didn’t tell me.”_

_“Omar...”_

_“You said you were doing okay,” he accuses, voice thick._

_“And I am,” Ander reassures him without missing a beat, nodding his head almost frantically. “It wasn’t a big deal, Rebe just caught me the day after I got the diagnosis. And it was the day of the college interviews and I think the stress of it all just kinda... spilled over...”_

_“I wanted to tell you,” Rebeka tells him. “I swear Omar.”_

_“She did.”_

_And Omar is furious and angry and frustrated and hurt and upset, but mostly it’s at himself. Because while Ander is struggling with a life-threatening disease, Omar is out here feeling butt-hurt that his friends kept it from him. It’s fucked up and irrational and he knows that, but he still can’t help it._

_“It’s fine,” he mumbles, but he keeps his eyes peeled on his hands, avoiding both Ander and Rebeka’s worried gazes. “It’s fine,” he repeats, setting the joint on the makeshift tray in his lap and wringing his hands together._

_“Omar...” Ander murmurs, and even if he’s not looking at him, Omar can feel the worry emanating from him, which only serves to make him feel even worse._

_He starts gnawing on one of his fingernails, but Ander immediately reaches out to hold his hand between both of his, linking their fingers together and drawing circles on his wrist._

_Omar sighs, finally looking up at Ander before turning to Rebeka. He uses his free hand to pass her the joint and the lighter, trying to muster up a smile._

_“I’m just glad you were around so he wasn’t completely alone in this,” he manages sincerely, trying to see the upside in all this. Ander squeezes his hand, while Rebeka nods and props the joint between her lips. Omar takes a deep breath to clear his thoughts, his eyes lighting up. “So, does that mean you two are friends now?”_

_Ander shrugs, a lopsided smile creeping up his face. “I mean, you were right, she’s not totally horrible.”_

_The fact that Ander hasn’t let go of his hand yet is not lost on Omar._

_Rebeka snorts, smoke coming out of her nose and causing her to cough lightly._

_“He’s just really into the fact that I have the hots for him,” she teases, handing the joint to Omar. “Makes him feel all good and secure about his manhood and shit.”_

_Ander cackles in amusement and Omar grins widely, finally allowing the relief to course through him and realizing how much of a good thing this is. While he’s long come to terms with the fact that Ander will never really understand his friendship with Lu, Rebeka is one person he always thought Ander would get along with if he just gave her a shot._

_Omar blows out some smoke and turns his attention to Rebeka. “So, what was the thing that you wanted to do, then?”_

_She fiddles with a thread in her pants for a moment, looking thoughtful. “The same thing you’ve been wanting me to do for ages. Tell Samu how I feel.”_

_Omar’s entire face lights up, while Ander’s eyebrows disappear in his hair “Wait, you knew?”_

_Rebeka groans, smacking Ander lightly on the arm._

_“Of course he knew,” she replies before Omar has the chance to. “No offense, that bonding session at the clinic was great and all, but you think I’d tell you something like that before I told Omar?”_

_Ander huffs a laugh as he raises his hands in surrender. “My bad,” he mutters, taking the joint from Omar. “Wait, so he knows about the other thing too?”_

_Omar’s eyebrows shoot up. “What other thing?”_

_Rebeka groans, hitting Ander again. “Man, you’re really bad at this. Whether he knows or not, I have to tell him now.” Ander winces, looking guilty. “But yeah, he knows I’m bi. And that I probably wouldn’t mind doing La Marquesita.”_

_“Wouldn’t we all,” Omar mutters under his breath and Ander snorts, elbowing Rebeka._

_“Told you,” Ander adds for good measure, wagging his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Okay, but. Did you tell Samu?”_

_Rebeka grimaces. “I mean, I didn’t really say anything…” she trails off, her lips curling up in a wicked smile. “But we may or may not have ended up making out for three hours.”_

_Omar practically squeals, looking back and forth from her to Ander. “I’ve been trying to get you to do it for months, and you spend one afternoon with Ander and that does it?”_

_Ander laughs as he blows out some smoke, wagging his eyebrows again. “What can I say, I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.” He keeps his eyes trained on Omar, licking his lips lightly. “You of all people should know that, Omar.”_

_“Okay, no,” Rebeka interjects immediately. “I am pulling the plug on this right now. I’m here for the weed, not the porn. Also, dude, your mum is right there.”_

_Omar shrugs. “She found out Ander is gay because she caught us making out and Ander was basically naked. It can only go up from there.”_

_Rebeka looks mildly horrified. “Dude, you need to get her a medal or roll her up a joint or something.”_

_“Trust me, she doesn’t need anyone rolling up her joints,” Ander mutters and Omar laughs._

_“Okay, now I want her to roll me up a joint,” Rebeka tells them._

_“You’re her student, she won’t do it.”_

_“Maybe after you guys graduate then,” Omar adds._

_Ander doesn’t say anything, looking down at his lap, and Omar knows the dark places his thoughts have travelled to._

_Rebeka too, it seems, because she only sighs before she nudges Ander in the ribs, eyes flickering between him and Omar. “I’m holding you to that.”_

_Ander nods and manages a small smile._

* * *

The rest of the afternoon whirls by in a flash, the three of them spending most of it on the balcony before heading out for a late lunch. 

Despite it being close to 4 in the afternoon, Oro is near full of people, the staff looking somewhat excited and upbeat despite the crowd, happily greeting Rebeka and Ander when they notice them come in. 

Ander disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes as Rebeka leads Omar to the outside terrace, settling down on a small empty table. The lake looks almost golden under this light, shimmering under the sun as the surrounding trees and leaves rustle in the light breeze. 

Omar forgot how beautiful this place could be. 

“Told you,” Rebeka says, raising her eyebrows, lips pursed in a knowing smile. Omar takes his eyes off the view long enough to look at her quizzically, finally slipping into his seat. “There’s no place quite like Madrid.”

Omar smiles, his eyes following Ander as he makes his way outside, slipping into the empty seat between the two of them.

He squints against the bright sun, flecks of green visible in his eyes. He might be an arrogant jerk, but he’s a damn hot one.

Ander looks at Omar. “You want a menu or…?”

Omar rolls his eyes. “You literally own the place, you know what’s best here. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Ander chuckles lightly as Rebeka waves to one of the waiters, holding up three fingers when he notices her. The waiter nods with a smile before disappearing inside without a word. 

Omar’s phone starts ringing just then. It’s Lu.

He picks the call up and holds the phone close to his ear. “Hey babe.”

He notices Ander turn to look at him from his peripheral vision, and only then realizes that Ander doesn’t actually know who’s on the other end of the line. 

“Where are you?” Lu asks in lieu of greeting.

Omar raises his eyebrows even though she can’t see him. “Having lunch with Ander and Rebe. What’s up?”

“Excellent. Put me on loudspeaker.” 

Omar does as he’s told, pressing the loudspeaker button and setting his phone in the middle of the table. He knows better than to question Lu. “Okay. You’re on loudspeaker.”

“Bitches, what are you up to next weekend?” Rebeka raises her eyebrows and Ander opens his mouth to speak, but Lu cuts them off before they can actually get any words out. “Actually, I don’t care because whatever it is, you’re cancelling it. We’re going to San Sebastián.”

Omar frowns. “What’s in San Sebastián?” 

“Carla’s beach house, and Valerio has the keys. Carla’s off on some island with her boy toy of the month.” Omar can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Point is, the place is ours for the weekend.”

Ander sighs. “It’s six hours by train, Lu.”

“Yes, thanks for that insightful addition, Ander,” she shoots back in her snarkiest tone. Omar is almost tempted to grin. “It’s four plus hours by car and Guzmán has already agreed to drive. But we won’t all fit so we need another car if we don’t want half of us to take the train.”

Rebeka narrows her eyes thoughtfully “When are we going, exactly?”

“Well, the plan is to go Friday afternoon and come back Sunday night.”

“I have a friend with a car who might be free, I’ll have to check with her,” Rebeka says. Omar and Ander both look at her expectantly. “Alba,” she mutters and Ander’s lips immediately curl in a lopsided smirk.

“Okay, perfect,” Lu’s voice echoes. “Check with her and keep me posted. Bye, bitches!” 

And she’s gone before any of them can say anything else. 

The smile doesn’t leave Ander’s face, his eyes trained on Rebeka as she starts texting into her phone. 

She finally meets his eyes after a few moments, unable to ignore him any longer. “What?”

Omar’s gaze flickers between the two of them, trying to follow up.

“Alba?” Ander asks, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. 

“Who’s Alba?”

Rebeka narrows her eyes at Ander “What’s wrong with Alba?”

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” Ander tells her in his most casual tone, completely ignoring Omar, “I just didn’t know you guys were this serious.”

“Who’s Alba?”

Rebeka shakes her head, shrugging exaggeratedly as if to prove her point. “Asking her to go with us for the weekend isn’t serious.”

Omar groans, leaning forward and pressing his palm firmly against Ander’s mouth before he can say anything else.

That certainly catches Ander’s attention. He wraps his fingers around Omar’s hand, turning around to look at him as he tries to pull the offending hand away from his face, but Omar doesn’t budge.

When Omar’s certain he’s got Ander’s full attention, he finally loosens his grip on Ander’s face. “Who the fuck’s Alba?”

Ander lowers Omar’s hand but doesn’t let go, a shit-eating grin on his face as his eyes flicker from Omar to Rebeka. “This girl Rebeka is seeing.”

Omar turns a pair of wide, accusatory eyes to her. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone!”

“I’m not seeing her,” Rebeka dismisses immediately, grimacing. “We just hook up sometimes.” She fiddles nervously with one of the layered gold necklaces around her neck, trying to sound casual. “We need a ride for the weekend and if that means I can get some action while we’re there, why not?”

A waiter comes by with their food right then, momentarily distracting them.

He starts setting several plates down across the table, and it’s only then that Omar realizes Ander hasn’t let go of his hand yet. Ander seems to realize the same thing at the same moment, releasing Omar’s hand casually but keeping his eyes firmly on Rebeka. 

“If you say so,” Ander singsongs, reaching for some bread and shoving a piece in his mouth obnoxiously.

“Just shut up and eat your food.”


	9. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ander “I’m too tough to show emotion” Muñoz honest-to-god _giggles_ anytime the tiniest wave hits his face, and Omar has to legitimately pause whatever he's doing to ogle every single time. 

As is customary, Nadia is running all over the house on the day of the trip, packing and double-packing and triple-packing to make sure they have everything they need, while Omar and Samuel lie uselessly on Omar’s bed, staring at the ceiling and laughing lazily at Samuel’s poor attempts at jokes. 

Omar packs a bag at the last possible second, stuffing a couple of swim shorts and a few other necessary items into his backpack, making sure to add his notebooks and ink pens too.

Nadia calls them out eventually to help her pick some snacks and drinks for the road. Omar’s dad insists on filling another bag for their friends in the other car.

Guzmán finally pulls up in front of the shop around 6, and when Omar walks out to the car, he’s surprised to find Ander getting out of the front seat and getting into the back.

He feels a jolt of excitement course through him as their eyes meet over the hood of the car, Ander flashing him a wide grin before he climbs inside the car.

Omar was almost absolutely sure Ander would be going with Rebeka, since they live together and all, but there he was, in the backseat of Guzmán’s car, waiting for Omar and Samuel to join him.

Omar shoves his bag in the open trunk, making sure to take out his phone, ear buds and sketchbook first. He notices Samuel grinning next to him as he closes the trunk. “What?”

Samuel shakes his head lightly, unable to hide his amusement as he peers at the backseat. “Nothing, nothing… It’s just the first time you won’t be bitching about being stuck in the middle seat.”

Omar’s cheeks flush as he flips Samuel off in an attempt to save face, shoving him lightly for good measure, before he gets into the car.

They stop at a gas station to fill up their tank and meet up with the others. Valerio and Christian’s voices are booming from inside the other car, and Omar is glad he’s not stuck sharing a ride with them. There’s not a world in which he can take a 5-hour car trip with both Valerio and Christian.

The drive to San Sebastián is long, but not as uncomfortable as Omar anticipates. For all his flaws, Guzmán is actually a decent driver. They play stupid road games and stuff their faces with chips and cookies and spend most of the ride laughing together and mostly giving Guzmán shit about his horrifying taste in music.

Omar shares his ear buds with Ander about three hours into the ride, taking out his sketchbook and doodling randomly for a while. He only stops when Samuel and Ander fall asleep on either side of him, Ander’s head falling to Omar’s shoulder and Samuel nearly toppling entirely into his lap. 

Eventually, he gives in to sleep as well, only waking up when Nadia shakes him gently, rousing the other two in the process.

They meet up with the others at a small fast food place right outside of San Sebastián to grab a quick bite before driving to the beach house. 

It’s past midnight by the time they get there and Omar is more than ready to pass out. Nadia and Guzmán, Rebeka and Alba, and Valerio and Christian each get one of the three bedrooms, the last two only because Samuel points out that it’s in everyone’s best interest if they’re holed up together. Ander, Samuel, Lu and Omar end up sharing the living room, Lu and Omar on one sofa bed and Ander and Samuel on the other.

* * *

Lu wants to drag them to the beach at the crack of dawn, but they manage to convince her to go into town and grab breakfast first. 

Omar shares a stack of pancakes and a pot of coffee with Ander as he watches his friends around him, almost fascinated. He forgot just how _loud_ his friends got when they were all together.

Valerio and Christian are flirting with every single member of the waiting staff, Lu is asking if they’re done every five minutes while simultaneously posting 36 Instagram stories, Nadia and Guzmán are being all smiley and cute and sickeningly in love, Rebeka is in the middle of an actual thumb war with Alba, and Samuel is just full-on _glaring_ at anyone who so much as breathes. 

Ander looks around with amusement, shovelling the last of his pancakes in his mouth and taking in the absolute clusterfuck at their table before turning to Omar and raising his eyebrows pointedly at him. “This is why I don’t do group hangouts.”

Lu drags Omar straight to the beach as soon as they’re done, the rest of their friends stopping by the house to pick up some supplies.

The water is calm, lapping rhythmically in soft waves, the ocean much less turbulent than it usually is this time of the year. Omar closes his eyes and lets the water engulf him before resurfacing and floating on his back. Lu does the same, holding his hand so they don’t stray far apart, and they stay like that for a while. 

By the time they make it back to the beach, the rest of their crew is there, Ander’s face melting into a giant grin when he spots Omar walking over.

Omar makes a beeline for Ander and Samuel, stopping right next to Ander and shaking himself like a wet dog. Samuel screeches in an uncharacteristically high pitch while Ander starts hurling abuse at Omar. Omar only laughs.

Ander takes off his shirt and crumples it, shoving it under his head and lying back down before closing his eyes.

Omar unfurls his towel next to him, plopping down and sitting with his legs pulled up. He props his arms over his knees, looking over his shoulder and resting his cheek against his bicep as he watches Ander.

He takes him in quietly, memorizing the lines and curves and dips of his face. He takes in the way he squints his eyes against the sun even though they’re closed, lips curled into a slight pout, and the exact bump and curve of his nose, and the way he taps his fingers absently against his thigh despite there being no music around, and the way his hair, growing ever so longer and without any product today, falls lightly on his forehead in a mess of tangled curls. 

He’s got a small fleck of sand on his cheek and Omar doesn’t really think about it when he reaches out to brush it away. It’s only after his thumb is against Ander’s cheek that he realizes he might startle him, but Ander doesn’t even flinch at Omar’s touch, as if he’s fully expecting it, only blinking his eyes open slowly and shielding himself from the sun with his hand. He turns his head lightly to look at Omar, a soft smile on his face. 

Omar’s lips curl up on their own accord, eyes locked with Ander’s for a long moment before he forces himself to look away.

His gaze flickers to Samuel. His friend looks lost in his own world, brow furrowed slightly as he stares at Rebeka and Alba. Omar frowns, not really sure what that’s about. 

Ander notices the look on Omar’s face, straightening up and following his line of sight. He sighs. “’You just gonna keep staring at her like that or you gonna do something about your whole situation?”

Samuel grumbles his answer. “I’m fine just staring from afar, thanks.”

Omar’s frown deepens as he tries to figure out exactly what he’s missing here. 

Ander tsks and shakes his head, mumbling “once an idiot, always an idiot”, loud enough for both of them to hear, at which point Samuel straightens up sharply, turning his all-too-powerful glare on Ander. 

“You do see that she’s here with a girl, right? Or were you not right there next to me when we heard them fucking at 4 in the morning?”

Omar’s face crumples in a puzzled and mildly disgusted look. 

_Why were they listening in on someone having sex at 4 am? And who the fuck was having sex at 4 am in the first place?_

His eyes flicker between Ander, Samuel and Rebeka as he tries to piece this conversation together.

“Okay hold up, hold up,” he jumps in, holding a hand up and waving it vaguely in the air. “Who was fucking at 4 in the morning? Rebe?”

Samuel’s eyes widen in alarm, the tips of his ears turning pink. “For fuck’s sake, Omar, keep your voice down!”

Omar winces apologetically, slapping a hand against his mouth. It’s a good thing they’re sitting a little farther back from the rest of their group, and Christian’s voice is loud enough to drown anything else out.

Omar leans forward to hear Samuel better. Ander rolls his eyes as he scoots back a little, reaching over an arm to wrap his fingers around Omar’s wrist and pull him over to sit next to him on the towel. Ander then turns until he’s facing Samuel entirely, crossing his legs in front of him.

_It’s just more practical this way,_ Omar tells himself. That’s the only reason he’s now next to Ander, on his towel, sitting so close that their shoulders are touching and Ander’s knee is essentially propped up on his thigh. 

It’s just more practical, and his heart is being absolutely _ridiculous_ for hammering in his chest like that right now. 

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “You guys heard Rebeka and Alba doing it?”

Ander scrunches up his nose. “Why are you so surprised about that?” Omar is momentarily distracted by just how _close_ Ander’s face is. “Rebe literally told us that’s what this trip was about.”

Omar shrugs. “I’m just surprised I didn’t hear her. I’m a very light sleeper.”

Ander nods. “Right, but you were mumbling in your sleep, and that’s usually a sign that you’re properly wiped and passed out.”

He says it so casually, so dismissively, like it’s not at all significant that Ander is still so deeply familiar with Omar’s sleeping patterns.

“Right, now that we’ve established that Omar can’t hear people having sex when he’s asleep,” Samuel mumbles with annoyance, “tell me again why you’re suggesting I do anything when Rebe clearly told you she wanted Alba to come on this trip with her?”

“Because she also told us that it wasn’t serious,” Ander whispers a little too aggressively. “In fact, she made a very big fuss about us understanding that they just hook up sometimes and it’s not at all serious.”

His gaze flickers to Omar, an expectant look on his face.

Omar’s features twist into a puzzled look as he tries to keep up with this conversation. He realizes Ander is waiting for him to back him up. “Oh, right. Yes, I was there, she said that.” 

Ander rolls his eyes again. “Thanks for that ringing endorsement. Point is, she’s not serious about Alba. But if you keep doing nothing but stare at her like an actual creep, she _will_ find someone eventually that she’ll be serious about. And it won’t be you.”

Samuel sighs, fiddling with some sand on his towel. “Ander, I put her mum in jail. There’s no coming back from that.”

“For fuck’s sake, Samu, we’ve all done much worse than that, here. All of us. Besides, her mum’s a dick, you know that. She chose her fucking empire over her own daughter.” 

As sincere as Ander sounds and as sad as Samuel looks, Omar is still stuck on one giant detail in the conversation.

“Okay, wait.” Omar holds up a hand and raises his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, but you’re gonna need to hold up again. I’m not hallucinating here or misreading the situation, right? You’re into _Rebe_?”

“Why are you so surprised? Rebe’s a fucking catch.” 

Ander sounds almost offended, and that rubs Omar the wrong way.

“I know she’s a fucking catch, thank you very much,” he shoots back. “I’d like to remind you that I was actually friends with her long before you realized she’s the fucking coolest. Back when you used to just sit back and silently judge the fuck out of both of us,” he adds pointedly.

It’s one of those things Omar doesn’t like to remember when it comes to his past with Ander. That Ander used to be ashamed of him and his friends.

* * *

_“This isn’t the Omar I fell for! Do you get it? I love the other one!”_

_And just like that, with the simplest of statements, Omar feels his heart crack, sending echoes of pain that ricochet through his body. He struggles to breathe for a moment, the lump in his throat nearly incapacitating him as he stares at Ander._

_It’s everything he always feared. It’s why he never showed his true self, why he always hid behind too-big clothes and too-dark colours and facial hair and a blank expression. It’s why he didn’t want to let anyone in._

_Because he knew the moment would come when the mask would slip, when he’d start getting too comfortable and forget that he has to protect himself, that his guard would slip and he’d let them see him. And it’s stupid that he thought Ander would be different, that Ander loved him enough to look past the bullshit and accept the real him without judgement._

_It’s stupid that he let himself care enough that it feels like the whole world is suddenly overwhelmed with a strange sense of darkness. That this feels worse than everything he’s been through so far, and he’s been through a lot of pretty shit things already._

_Ander’s expression slips for a moment, his frown melting into something softer, almost guilty, and Omar thinks he can see the regret on his face. But then again, probably not. It’s probably Omar just seeing what he wants to see. To spare his heart from the reality of his situation._

_He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t fucking ask to fall in love, and he didn’t ask for Ander to find him again and again and again until he couldn’t pretend he didn’t want him too. He didn’t ask for Ander to push his way in only to back away when Omar needed him the most._

_And it makes him so angry, because Omar is not a good person, he knows that. He does a lot of stupid things and hurts people and acts before he thinks a lot of times, but he still doesn’t deserve this._

_“Well, then I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with this one.”_

_He doesn’t wait for Ander to say anything else because he doesn’t want to hear it. Because if Ander says he’s sorry, if he looks at him the way Omar knows he will, then he’s not sure he’ll have the strength to walk away._

_And if Ander doubles down on it; if Ander actually means it and is fed up with this version of Omar that he’s unfamiliar and uncomfortable with, then Omar doesn’t know if he has the ability to not break down at being rejected and pushed away by one more person he loves._

_So he walks away, a part of him hoping Ander will follow him and tell him he didn’t mean it, that he’s sorry and he didn’t mean it and he loves him the way he is and he didn’t mean it._

_But when Omar downs the remainder of Ander’s drink and glances behind him, Ander is gone. Omar’s eyes search frantically for Ander everywhere, only to see his retreating back at the top of the stairs for a moment before he disappears completely._

_The pain in his chest is almost blinding, the tears pooling behind his closed lids, but he blinks them away, wiping at his face harshly and forcing a breath into his lungs. He jumps back behind the bar and buries himself in his work._

_Rebeka offers him a ride after his shift, but Omar doesn’t want to go home. He can’t face Ander right now, but he doesn’t tell her that. Instead, he tells her he needs some fresh air, that he’s going up to Tío Pío to just chill there for a couple of hours. Rebeka insists on going with him, even though it’s 4 in the morning._

_So they go, and sit on the hill for a long time, watching the Madrid sky grow lighter as the sun rises higher, illuminating their city and casting beautiful pastel colours everywhere._

_It’s only when they start noticing more and more cars circling down in the city that Omar decides they should call it a day. It’s already past 7, so Ander will probably have already left the house by now._

_He gets home to find Azucena’s car gone. His heart aches for just a second, a moment of weakness that he allows himself. He didn’t want to see Ander, but it still hurts that Ander isn’t here. He walks up to the room and packs as much of his stuff as he can find._

_It’s only a couple of weeks until he gets his first pay check, and Samuel has already found him a small apartment in his neighbourhood. It’s a pretty shitty one and he’ll have four roommates, but the pay is just a bit less than his salary, and his room will have a lock so he doesn’t have to see anyone if he doesn’t want to._

_In just a few weeks, he’ll be out of Ander’s house, if not his life. In just a few weeks, he’ll set Ander free so he doesn’t have to stay with him out of some pretty fucked up sense of obligation._

_He passes out in Ander’s bed with that thought in mind._

_He wakes up a few hours before Ander is meant to come back from school and takes the time to shower, get dressed and pack a few more things._

_He’s still not ready to face Ander, he decides, so he packs his work uniform into his backpack and goes down to the kitchen to make himself a quick sandwich, getting ready to leave and wander around the city for a few hours before his shift starts._

_He’s nearly ready to go when he hears a knock on the door. He checks his watch, slightly alarmed that he got the time wrong, but it’s barely 3. Ander and Azucena won’t be here for at least another 20 minutes. And besides, it’s their house, so they never knock._

_He approaches the door carefully, peeking out the window first to see who it is, only to find Ander’s father standing outside._

_He exhales as he opens the door, smiling awkwardly at the man in front of him._

_He’s met him exactly twice and hates him just on principle. He’s seen how many nights Azucena spent upset over him. He’s seen how tormented Ander was all of last year because of his father’s frankly disturbing obsession with tennis. He’s seen how tormented Ander still is because of his father, constantly blaming himself for his parents’ divorce and putting himself down because he never seems to live up to his father’s expectations._

_Omar hates him, but it’s not really his place to tell the man to fuck off, so he steps aside and lets him in, sighing as he shuts the door behind him._

_He can’t leave now. He can’t leave Ander alone with him. It doesn’t matter that Ander doesn’t love Omar, or that he doesn’t think he’s enough. Omar loves Ander enough to bury his own pain and not leave him to face his father alone._

_Because Omar knows that when his father leaves in a few hours, Ander will hole himself in his room and insist that he’s okay, but that when Omar climbs into bed with him, Ander will cling to him, holding him close and wrapping his arms tighter around him. That Ander will bury his face in Omar’s side to hide any evidence of tears or pain on it. That he will say he’s okay but every inch of his body will show Omar that he’s not._

_Azucena looks very happy to see Omar home when they get there, but Ander looks surprised. He lingers in front of him in the doorway, his blank mask slipping for a few moments, revealing the hurt and guilt and relief he feels at seeing him._

_Ander starts to reach out for Omar’s hand, but Omar backs away slightly, keeping a safe distance between them and telling Ander his dad’s waiting for him._

_Ander swallows and follows Azucena into the living room, Omar trailing behind him._

_He tries not to think about the hurt that flashed in Ander’s eyes when he backed away from him, or the way his face fell._

_Omar doesn’t mean to yell at Ander’s dad. He doesn’t mean to jump to Ander’s defence, nor does he mean to let it slip how much being away from his own family hurts him._

_When Ander finds him in his bedroom later, shaking with pain and anger and longing for his family, for his father, for acceptance, for Ander, he doesn’t wait for permission. He wraps himself around Omar and pulls him close, clinging to him and burying his face in his back, just as Omar knew he would._

_Except that it’s for Omar’s benefit this time. Because he knows it’s Omar who needs it right now._

_And Omar sinks into it and holds on to Ander and turns and kisses him and loves him, because it doesn’t matter._

_It doesn’t matter that Ander doesn’t love him back, or that Omar wants to move out, or that his family can’t accept him._

_In that moment, Ander is there and Omar loves him enough that it’s all that matters.  
_

* * *

“Okay I did not judge-“

“Yeah, you did,” Omar interrupts quickly, not at all here for this conversation. “But that’s not really the point right now.” Maybe one day they’ll talk about how much it hurt Omar to not have Ander’s support when he was figuring out who he was. Maybe not. It’s long in the past and they have no future together, so what’s the point? Omar shakes his head lightly to chase the dark thoughts away, steering his attention back to Samuel. “Didn’t you tell me you were still hung up on Carla, like, two weeks ago?”

Samuel’s lips curl up in an amused half-smile. “I didn’t tell you shit. You assumed and I just didn’t correct you.”

Omar gasps. “What the actual fuck, Samu? I’m your best friend and you just leave me in the fucking dark like that?”

“He’s just ashamed that he only got his head out of his ass when she got over him,” Ander teases lightly, but something about his tone doesn’t sit right. 

Omar searches Ander’s face, looking for whatever he’s missing, but Ander keeps his eyes firmly trained on Samuel, swallowing thickly.

He feels a pressure on his back in that moment, and suddenly Rebeka’s head is wedged between him and Ander as she kneels down behind them, draping her arms around their shoulders. “What are we talking about?”

Ander’s lips curl into a small, lopsided smile. “Samu’s ass.”

Rebeka’s face lights up, her tongue peeking out between her teeth as she eyes Samuel. “I remember that. Perky little thing.” She grins wickedly at him, causing both Ander and Omar to raise their eyebrows at Samuel with the subtlety of a house fire. “I’m going for a swim and no one wants to go with me,” she tells them after a moment. “And to be honest, roomie, there’s nothing I’d like more than to see those milky white dents that you call abs glistening with sweet, sweet saltwater.”

She angles herself ever-so-slightly towards Ander and winks obnoxiously. 

Omar snorts loudly next to her, while Ander wags his eyebrows. 

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Ander purrs. Rebeka barks a laugh as Ander shrugs her arm off him and pushes himself off the ground. She follows suit, Omar’s eyes trailing her before he realizes Ander is now standing right in front of him with an extended arm. Omar cocks his head to the left in question. “You don’t think I’m going in without you, do you?”

Omar smiles, feeling a familiar kind of warmth envelop him. It feels like a common occurrence whenever Ander is around, these days. He clasps his hand with Ander’s, allowing himself to be pulled up. 

Rebeka smiles when she sees Omar getting up too, walking over to ruffle his hair. She turns to Samuel. “Samu? Do I need to issue a formal invitation for you to get that I want you with us?” Omar and Ander’s eyes widen comically, both of them stepping back at the same time until they’re behind Rebeka, waving their hands around frantically for Samuel to get off the fucking ground right this fucking second. “Come on, Samuel, before Tweedledum and Tweedledee break their necks behind me.”

Ander chokes out a laugh while Omar scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

Samuel’s amused grin widens as he finally pushes himself off the floor to join them.

* * *

Ander “I’m too tough to show emotion” Muñoz honest-to-god _giggles_ anytime the tiniest wave hits his face and Omar has to legitimately pause whatever he's doing to ogle every single time. 

He’s rarely ever seen him this relaxed, or happy, or excited before, and it’s only when they’re in the water that Omar realizes that he’s never actually been swimming with Ander before. 

Omar hears Ander and Samuel and Rebeka laughing loudly around him but he’s suddenly completely trapped in his own head. 

The more he thinks about it, the more it bothers him because they got together so young and fell for each other so hard and fast but never got to really _enjoy_ any of it. 

Yes, they loved each other and yes, on their good days they had a really good time together, but for the most part, they were burdened with other people’s problems and secrets and dealing with murders and murderers and life-changing mistakes and shit parents and unhealthy coping mechanisms and life-threatening illnesses and everything was _too_ _much_ _all the fucking time_. 

He never got to go to the beach with Ander, or visit a theme park with him, or watch a concert, and it’s irrational that Omar is so upset and frustrated about it right now, but he wants to do all of that with Ander.

Except that Ander lives in Madrid and Omar lives in New York and he leaves in a week and that’s that. Whatever he thought was going to happen when he decided to revisit his past is probably not going to happen and he just needs to accept that. 

Omar is aware of just how ridiculous he’s being right now. He’s doing the exact opposite of enjoying the moment, literally standing in the middle of the ocean, neck-deep in water and wallowing in misery.

As if sensing his unease, Ander is suddenly right there in front of him, thumb carefully smoothing out the deep wrinkle that must’ve formed between his eyes. Omar relaxes immediately under his touch, closing his eyes and releasing the tension that was building the last few minutes.

Ander’s eyes are searching, his brows lightly furrowed as he bites the inside of his cheek. “What’s on your mind?”

He drops his hand from Omar’s face.

Omar shakes his head lightly, reaching for Ander’s wrist before he gets too far away. 

“Nothing you can help with,” he tells him, fiddling with the silver chain Ander has been wearing around his wrist since the day he met him. 

He’s looking for any excuse to touch him right now, is the truth. 

Ander nods thoughtfully, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he ghosts his fingers over Omar’s wrist too. “I’m sorry.”

“What about?”

Ander shrugs, eyes trained on their hands. “You were right earlier,” he admits. “I was a judgmental ass.”

Omar shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have brought it up, that’s long in the past.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m still sorry,” Ander cuts him off before he can say anything else, wrapping his fingers delicately around Omar’s wrist and pulling him closer. “You were figuring yourself out and you needed me to be supportive and instead I was a complete ass because I couldn’t deal with my own shit.”

Omar slides his hand from Ander’s wrist to lock their hands together properly. “It’s okay. You had a lot on your plate with Polo and Marina.”

“It wasn’t just that. Seeing you change and become who you wanted to be… I envied you. You were so unapologetic about it and I couldn’t even tell my best friend the truth. I never told Guzmán anything that was outside of the carefully curated image I created for myself. I never even told him I was gay, for fuck’s sake.”

“I didn’t tell Samu either,” Omar is quick to defend. “They both saw us together.”

Ander shakes his head. “You didn’t tell Samu because you were terrified it would get back to your father. But I didn’t do it because I was scared it would change his idea of me or make him think less of me. I had so much shame and fear and when you got rid of yours, it just knocked me off balance. The more you showed of yourself, the more I liked you and the more I hated myself for it. I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

Omar swallows thickly, allowing the importance of the moment to sink in. He always worried that Ander didn’t really like him anymore after he came out. Even after they supposedly resolved their issues, the thought that a part of Omar annoyed Ander always lingered in the back of his mind. But now he knows the truth, and it’s frankly overwhelming. 

“It’s not all your fault,” Omar says after a moment. “It’s how the world built us. I was the same. It takes years to shed all the shit and shame and fear we carry.” His eyes finally meet Ander’s, and he tries to convey the sincerity he feels in his words. “But thank you.” 

Ander nods his head, lips curving up on one side as his grip on Omar’s hand loosens lightly. “You didn’t tell me you go a circle tattoo on the back of your neck.”

Omar’s entire body flushes at being caught, wincing slightly as he tries to come up with an excuse other than that he wanted something on his body that reminded him of Ander. 

“At least I know what it means,” he says lamely, splashing some water in Ander’s face and dipping under the water for a moment.

When he resurfaces, Ander is still watching him with a knowing look on his face.

Omar cocks his head to the side for a moment, lips turning up in a smile. “You look so different without curls.”

He’s changing the subject, and Ander knows that too, but he humours him anyway. “You’ve seen me without curls before.”

“Showers don’t count.”

Ander’s eyes darken in amusement. “I was talking about my buzz cut, but it’s nice to know your mind immediately went there.”

Omar flushes but smiles, dipping his head lightly. “That was different. Your hair looks so long right now.” He reaches out a hand to ruffle Ander’s wet hair, watching as he creates a mess of strands that stick up on all sides. “Back then, it was just…” he trails off, unable to finish, the familiar and terrifying ache that settles in his chest anytime he thinks about Ander’s cancer coming back.

Ander’s face falls slightly, memories haunting him too. He shrugs. “I kinda liked the buzz.”

“It looked good on you,” Omar tries, but the heavy weight remains at the pit of his stomach. Before he can think about it, he lets go of Ander’s hand and pushes himself on his toes to wrap his arms tight around him. The water gives him a much higher push than he anticipates and he ends up nearly half out of the water, almost toppling them over and forcing Ander to take a step back in surprise. “I’m really glad you got better, Ander.”

Ander manages to steady them in the water, wrapping his arms around Omar’s waist and squeezing back just as tightly. Omar can feel him smile into his shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”


	10. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Omar hadn’t seen much of Dani, or any of him, really, had lulled him into a false sense of security, thinking that whatever Ander had with Dani wasn’t at all serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst is here. Don't come at me with pitchforks *runs*

Two days after they get back from San Sebastián, Omar decides to visit Azucena. It’s one of the things he’d been wanting to do since he first got back, but wasn’t really sure if it would be okay with Ander.

But a lot’s happened since he’s been back, and even though he hasn’t asked Ander, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t really mind him visiting his mother. She was a steady and supportive parental figure for Omar when his own parents weren’t, after all.

He doesn’t call or text, deciding that a surprise visit would be best. 

And it is.

Azucena laughs gently when she spots him, pulling him inside the house and enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug with all the tenderness she possesses.

She insists that he stays for lunch - “I’m gonna make Spaghetti Bolognese, _cariño_ , and we both know that’s your favourite and you can’t leave me to eat alone, so you’re staying” - and he agrees and helps her prepare the food. He tells her all about New York and his life there and his work and his apartment and she listens to him like a proud and attentive mother would, smiling and laughing and aweing in all the right places, repeatedly reminding him of how proud she is of him and how far he’s come despite all the adversity he’s faced. 

She’s grabbing some utensils so they can move to the table when they hear the front door unlock, and they turn to see Ander making his way into the kitchen. 

To Omar’s greatest relief, the look that settles on Ander’s face when he sees him is more that of surprise than anger. 

He had some free time, he tells them, and decided to swing by and maybe grab lunch with her, since he wasn’t aware that she had a lunch date already.

Azucena immediately grabs a third plate and ushers Ander and Omar to sit at the table with a huge smile on her face, rambling about how the three of them haven’t eaten together in what feels like decades and she’s so happy to have both her boys home. 

Omar is pleasantly surprised by the lack of awkwardness to it all, the three of them falling into a familiar dynamic immediately. Omar and Ander automatically take their old seats next to one another around the table and Omar passes the pasta to Ander first, because he likes to pour the sauce on top of the noodles. Azucena grabs the strong chili from the cabinet because she knows that’s the one Omar likes and laughs when Omar and Ander both immediately dump their larger chunks of tomato in her plate, mumbling about how some things never change.

Omar helps her with the dishes when they’re done while Ander just sits on his ass and does nothing useful.

Omar is just about to leave when Ander asks if he wants to smoke a joint in the backyard, for old time’s sake. Omar smiles and grabs Ander’s stash from his hand, informing him that he’ll be rolling the joint because Ander sucks at it. Ander follows him out with a mildly offended look on his face.

* * *

“Hey, I’m sorry if it was weird for you to just randomly find me here, in your old house.”

Ander waves a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s technically your old house, too. I know she’s like family to you.” He blows out some smoke, smiling. “She asks about you all the fucking time, anyway, so you’re doing me a favour. Like, I’m not kidding. All the fucking time,” Ander insists, and Omar chuckles lightly. “And for a long time, I could only bring her second-hand news from Guzmán or Rebe.”

Omar’s stomach is in knots. “But now you can bring her first-hand news?”

Ander lies down on his back as he hands the joint back to Omar. “Unless you decide to fall off the face of the earth and not call again when you’re back in New York.”

Omar lies down on the grass too, his head right next to Ander’s waist. He feels Ander tentatively start playing with his hair, fingers slow and sluggish as they gently run through his short strands.

His stomach knots itself harder.

“I won’t,” Omar promises after a moment. “But you can’t either.”

Ander tugs on his hair lightly and Omar cranes his neck to look at him, but he can’t see Ander’s face.

“Hey, I can’t see your face,” Ander protests, reading his thoughts.

Omar wiggles on the grass and props his head up on Ander’s stomach, turning sideways so they’re looking at one another. “Better?”

Ander’s features melt into a lazy smile as he resumes playing with Omar’s hair and takes the joint from him again. “Much.” Omar chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, debating whether or not to say what he wants to say. Once again, Ander can practically hear the cogs in his brain turning, his thumb gently smoothing out Omar’s furrowed brow. “What are you thinking?”

“If I ask you to hang out with me on Thursday night, will you think it’s weird?” Omar blurts out quickly.

Ander’s eyebrows raise in confusion. “Why would I think it’s weird? We’re hanging out right now.”

“No, I’m talking just the two of us.” Omar winces when he realizes they’re basically alone right now, so he’s still not making sense. “And, like, we didn’t plan on hanging out today, it just happened. We didn’t plan on hanging out any of the times we did during my entire stay here, really. Well, maybe during Rebe’s party, but we didn’t exactly have that much time alone.” He’s rambling. And not making sense. And he can’t stop rambling or not making sense. “I don’t know, I’m not sure what I’m trying to say. I go back to New York in four days and it’s crazy to even consider this but—”

“Wait.” Ander’s fingers halt in Omar’s hair. “Are you, like, asking me out? Like _out_ out?”

Omar winces again, eyes meeting Ander’s. “Kinda? I mean, when you put it like that, you make it sound like we’re 14.” Omar rubs his face with his palm, willing his mouth to stop running. “For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “Okay, basically it would be nice to actually go somewhere alone with you and not have to wonder what it all means or if we’re only together because we got roped into it or ran into each other by accident or were strategically left alone by our very unsubtle friends.” Omar scrunches up his nose. “I don’t know, does any of that makes sense? And can you stop me from talking?”

Ander laughs in amusement, the sound filling Omar with that same familiar warmth and helping him relax just slightly. 

“I don’t know, I’m kind of enjoying seeing you squirming in my lap,” Ander teases. Omar shoves him lightly, ready to get up, but Ander laughs again and holds on to his hand, keeping him firmly in place. “It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but I think I know what you mean,” he says eventually. “And yes. Let’s go out on Thursday.”

Omar’s dopey grin stays on his face the entire day, to the point that Nadia, his mother and even his father tease him about it when he gets home.

* * *

Ander texts him in the afternoon on Thursday.

_Hey. Sorry cant make it tonight. somethin came up. Maybe next time ur in town._

* * *

Omar rereads Ander’s text for what feels like the hundredth time. 

He should’ve expected this. Things were going too well. Shit like that never works out for him.

What was he thinking, really? That he’d show up on Ander’s doorstep after two years and be welcomed back with opened arms? 

This isn’t some stupid movie. Loving someone isn’t enough.

Because he _does_ love Ander, is what Omar realizes. Nadia was right. 

It’s just a shame that with this simple realization comes the other, bigger one that he needs to confront: that Omar should leave the past where it belongs and finally get over Ander. He needs to do what he told himself that he came here to do in the first place: move on, and for real this time. 

He got his closure. It might not be in the way he wanted, but the message is loud and clear. Ander doesn’t want to be with him.

He has to start really moving on and he has to do it now.

He swallows thickly, repeating the words _move on, move on, move on_ in his head like a mantra, trying to keep his emotions from swallowing him whole. 

He takes a deep breath to steady himself and calm his frayed nerves. His thoughts drift to a few weeks ago, when he first got back to Madrid and he thought he and Ander were truly over. 

He’d holed himself up in the house and wallowed in his misery back then, trying to ride it out, but that didn’t work. So maybe he needs to take a more proactive approach this time.

He chews on his fingernail for a moment before he comes to a decision and turns to Nadia. “What are you and Guzmán doing tonight?”

Nadia looks up from her book. “Probably just hanging at his flat and watching a movie. You wanna come with?”

Omar shakes his head, clearing his throat lightly. “Can we go out? Maybe to a club or for a drink somewhere? We haven’t really been on a proper night out since we got back and I could really use a drink and some distraction.”

Nadia drops her book entirely, leaning forward on her bed and watching her brother with searching, curious, worried eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” 

His treacherous body gives him away immediately, tensing up as his face crumples for just a moment, but long enough for his sister to know he isn’t. He looks down at his hands in his lap.

It’s like the simple act of speaking, of trying to maintain a lie about how he feels right now has drained him, taking away all his defences.

“Omar,” Nadia murmurs his name softly, getting off her bed and crossing the room to sit down next to him. “Hey, look at me.” She guides his chin up with her fingers, her eyes softening almost painfully when she notices the stray tear on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Omar shakes his head, sniffling lightly and using his sleeve to wipe out the traces of his heartbreak.

“I’m not okay,” he admits. “But I don’t wanna talk about it,” he adds quickly, voice pleading. “Not yet. Tonight, I just wanna go out and have fun with you guys and not have to think about anything until we’re back in New York.”

Nadia uses her thumb to wipe another stray tear away. “Sure. Okay. I’ll text Guzmán and Lu. Do you wanna tell someone else? Ander or—“

“No,” Omar interrupts without missing a beat, shaking his head quickly. “I don’t want Ander there,” he tells her firmly, even though it’s not completely honest. In fact, it’s the furthest thing from the truth, because there’s no one he wants _more_ than Ander there. But it’s what he wants to want. Or not want. Whatever, it’s a good place to start with this whole moving on thing. “I just want to go out and have fun and make questionable decisions and get blackout drunk and come back and sleep it off until noon tomorrow.”

Nadia runs a gentle hand through Omar’s hair, easing the insufferable pain in his chest just a little.

“Okay,” she agrees. “I mean, I’m not particularly on board with the whole you getting blackout drunk part, but let’s go out tonight.”

Omar manage a smile, suddenly feeling all the energy wash out of him. He lies back on his bed, bone-tired and drained, his fingers shaky as he grips the edge of Nadia’s shirt tightly to keep her from leaving him. 

His sister gets the message, only adjusting her position on the bed. She runs her fingers through his hair gently, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

“You’re okay,” she whispers. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Omar only tightens his grip on Nadia’s shirt, burying his face in her leg.

The last thing he thinks before sleep takes over him is that he lucked out in the sister department.

* * *

_“So, the limit in this case is infinite. Got it?”_

_Omar stares blankly at his sister for a moment, hearing her words but unable to find any sense in them. His face crumples and he groans, giving up and bumping the table with his forehead._

_Why is he so dumb?_

_“No,” he admits, his voice muffled in his forearm._

_Nadia sighs. “Omar.”_

_“I got part of it,” he tells her, looking up at her guiltily. She went out of her way to meet him after school so she can help him study, so the least he can do is not frustrate her. He settles back in his seat, pulling a cigarette out of his pack and taking a sip from his cup of coffee. “You lost me in the second half, but we don’t have to go over it today. My test tomorrow is only supposed to cover the first three chapters, and I’m not really processing much anymore.”_

_“You’re the one who wanted to sit outside,” Nadia points out, waving her hands vaguely in the air. “Where all the street noise and the people are.”_

_She shoves a piece of her muffin in her mouth._

_“It’s non-smoking inside.”_

_Nadia raises her eyebrows pointedly. “Excuse me for assuming you could put away your death stick for an hour.” Omar only laughs, blowing out some smoke. Nadia’s face softens. “It’s fine, I have to leave soon anyway.”_

_Omar ventures a guess. “Shop?”_

_“Nope.” Nadia shoves her books into her school bag. “I have a date.”_

_Omar half-snorts-half-chokes, falling into a coughing fit._

_“You?” he manages between coughs. “A date?”_

_“It’s nice to know you find that so unbelievable,” Nadia mutters, not trying to hide her annoyance._

_“No, no, I don’t,” Omar reassures instantly, leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on his sister’s wrist, urging her to look at him. “I’m just surprised you’d go on a date that wasn’t set up by baba.”_

_He’s teasing her, but she still gives him a very unamused smile. “Shut up.”_

_Omar grins, watching his sister carefully, thoughtfully. He can see there’s more to it than what she’s telling him, and he wonders if he should pry. They don’t really talk about the important stuff. The stuff that matters. Or rather, she doesn’t. Omar has been opening up to her more, ever since that day she gave him her phone and covered for him so he could meet up with Ander. If it weren’t for her, he and Ander wouldn’t be together. But she still doesn’t tell Omar much. Not about her school, or her friends, or her life._

_He decides to go for it. “Is it with Guzmán?”_

_Nadia freezes for a moment, holding the book in her hand mid-air. She breathes deeply, shoving it in her backpack and placing the bag on the empty chair next to her. “Guzmán? Why would you think that?”_

_Her voice is careful, controlled, clipped. It reminds Omar of the way he used to be, when he lived with their parents and was hiding himself._

_Omar tries to catch her eyes. “Don’t you two have a thing?”_

_Nadia shakes her head immediately. “It’s not a thing.” She pauses, breathing deeply and trying to gather her thoughts. Omar wants to tell her it’s okay, that he won’t judge, but he knows her well enough to know it’ll only set her off. So he sits back and watches and wait, patiently hoping his sister will open up to him. “It’s... whatever it was, it’s in the past now,” she settles on. She looks up at him rather carefully. “How did you find out? Ander?”_

_Omar nods._

_“He assumed I knew,” he tells her, trying not to sound too bitter that he didn’t. “You see, Ander and I sort of have a Monday night tradition,” he continues, his tone lighter, hoping to help them both loosen up a bit. “I don’t have work so I make the popcorn, he chooses the movie, neither of us actually watches anything and we end up in various compromising positions.” As expected, Nadia gasps, blushing furiously. Omar grins. “I’ll spare you the details because you’re my sister,” he reassures, “but suffice it to say that I find Mondays rather mind-blowing and Tuesday mornings very challenging.”_

_Nadia huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “And I needed to know all of this because...”_

_“Because, my dear sister, two Mondays ago, after having spent the entire day thinking about all the things I would be doing to my boyfriend that night, he ditches me because, and I quote, Guzmán is feeling really down because your sister broke his heart, yet again.”_

_Nadia frowns. “Wait, so Ander and Guzmán are friends again?”_

_Omar sighs. Of course she’d focus on that._

_“No, Ander was lying...” Omar trails off, eyes trained on the cigarette in his hands. It’s been a rough few weeks. “I found out later why.” Nadia is staring at him expectantly. “It’s personal, but he had a good excuse, don’t worry,” he reassures. If getting diagnosed with a life-threatening illness counts as a good excuse, that is. He bites the inside of his cheek, almost drawing blood. He looks at Nadia. “Stop trying to distract me from the point.”_

_Nadia raises her eyebrows. “Which is?”_

_“You like Guzmán.”_

_She shakes her head, and Omar braces himself for her bullshit defence._

_“I love Guzmán,” she tells him, shocking him into silence. Omar opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to process her confession. “What? No smartass comeback?”_

_“I’m, um, wow— I didn’t...no.” He blinks a few times, working to pull himself together. “No, I can honestly say I didn’t see that coming,” he manages. “Like, how? When? Why didn’t you tell me? And why do you have a date with another dude?”_

_Nadia sighs, looking away for a moment, swallowing thickly._

_“It’s complicated,” she settles on, shrugging lightly even as her voice breaks. “It started off as a stupid game but he’s not the guy people think he is, Omar. He’s not some stupid rich white boy. Well, he is stupid and white and still relatively rich,” she amends, smiling to herself, “but he’s also wonderful and so, so caring. And he’s always trying to do the right thing, no matter how misguided he is about it. And he loves me.”_

_Omar smiles despite himself. He might not be that fond of Guzmán, but he can see that he means a lot to his sister. Which makes this all the more confusing._

_“And you love him, too,” Omar tells her. “So again, I ask, why do you have a date with someone else?”_

_“Because I have to move on,” Nadia says simply, immediately, like it’s completely logical. “Guzmán and I can’t be together.”_

_Omar can see the way her face transforms, the tenderness and vulnerability replaced by something determined and cold. It’s like she’s physically locking her feelings out, exactly as she’s always done. It’s the Nadia that Omar is familiar with, except that he doesn’t want her now. He wants the other one. The one who allows herself to have what she wants._

_“Nadia...”_

_“Everything stands in our way,” she talks over him, trying to make him see. “We don’t have the same beliefs, the same upbringing, the same backgrounds. He’s too liberated, I’m too conservative. His parents wouldn’t approve, mama and baba would flip out...”_

_Omar groans. “Come on, Nadia. It’s the 21st fucking century, none of that shit matters.”_

_“No, Omar,” Nadia tells him firmly. “For me, being in love is not enough.”_

_“Fine, that’s fair,” Omar humours her, reaching out a hand across the table to hold hers. “But it’s your life, Nadia. You should live it the way you want, even if that means losing some people.” Nadia frowns, but Omar doesn’t let her speak. “I know how hard it is to lose your family, Nadia, you know I do. But some things are worth it. And you won’t lose your whole family. I’ll always be there for you. Always. No matter what.”_

_Nadia’s front crumbles for a minute, her face melting into something softer. She holds Omar’s hand tighter. “So I take it things with Ander are going good?”_

_Of course she’s changing the subject. Of course she is. She wouldn’t be Nadia if she wasn’t. But Omar won’t push her too far today. They’ve already made progress, so he humours her._

_“They’re... going,” he settles on, watching as a deep V appears between her eyes. “He’s going through some stuff,” Omar explains, trying to ignore the echo of cancer, cancer, cancer crowding his mind. “I can’t really talk about it.” Sick, sick, sick. “But I’m trying to be there for him.” But you’ll fail, and he’ll die, and you’ll lose him. “It’s just... hard.” If you really loved him, it wouldn’t be hard. “It just… sometimes it feels like the world is always conspiring against us, you know? Every time we get a moment to breathe, we drown in even deeper shit after.” If you really loved him, you’d know how to save him. “You just start to wonder if it’ll always be this hard.” It’s not supposed to be hard. You’re weak and he doesn’t love you._

_“But it’s worth it?”_

_Omar looks at his sister’s earnest face, blinking his eyes closed and trying to silence the voices in his head. He wishes he could physically make his brain shut up._

_“I love him,” he tells her, continuing to ignore the painful thoughts haunting him. “And I think he loves me, too.”_

_Nadia snorts uncharacteristically._ _“You think? He literally rode a bike across town every single day for three months straight, just to see you in a backroom full of canned tuna for 10 minutes. And you_ think _he loves you?”_

_Omar smiles, the voices in his head somewhat dimmer._ _“Okay, he loves me.” He raises his eyebrows at his sister. “But you said love isn’t enough.”_

_“For me,” Nadia tells him. “But isn’t it, for you?”_

_Omar swallows thickly, watching his sister._

_“I don’t know,” he admits. To save Ander? “It has to be.”_

_I need it to be._

* * *

When Omar wakes up hours later, he’s groggy and disoriented to the point where for a few moments, he forgets where he is and what time it is and why he feels like he’s been run over by a truck multiple times.

But then, as it usually does, consciousness comes back to him like a freight train, the memories of the last few weeks and the text he received from Ander earlier today washing over him all at once.

There’s nothing he wants more than to stay in bed and bury himself in his pillows until he remembers nothing and no one and nowhere. 

He does the exact opposite, instead, forcing himself out of bed and hopping into the shower.

Maybe he can scrub his pain and disappointment away.

He finishes getting dressed and walks into the living room to find Guzmán already there.

Nadia walks over to him immediately, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I thought you would’ve changed your mind.”

Omar shakes his head, trying to muster up a smile. “I’m ready.”

Guzmán doesn’t have to say anything for Omar to know that Nadia has already filled him in on what happened in the afternoon. 

He kind of wants to be mad at her, but he really can’t bring himself to be, grateful that he doesn’t have to do this on his own. Even though Nadia and Guzmán don’t exactly know what’s happening, they’re here and that’s all that matters.

“Lu is meeting us at the club,” Guzmán tells him, “but I thought we could grab a bite to eat first?”

Omar just nods, shoving his phone and wallet in his back pocket and following Guzmán and Nadia outside.

By the time they make it to the club, Omar is feeling slightly better on a full stomach, but in dire need of a drink.

His mood improves marginally when Lu finds them right as they’re about to go in, immediately gushing about how good he looks. 

He runs into several people he knows inside, all of them old co-workers who were forced to find other jobs when Barceló shut down. They immediately hook them up with the best table in the VIP section and promise shots on the house throughout the night.

Once they’re settled and have had their welcome shot, Omar allows himself to sink into the couch, swaying his body lightly to the beat and enjoying his drink. 

They’ve been there for all of 15 minutes when he spots a familiar set of curls across the room, framing an even more familiar scowl. 

At first, he’s entirely convinced he’s seeing things.

There’s no way that Ander is exactly at the place where Omar came specifically to escape thinking about Ander. 

His mind has got to be playing tricks on him, for sure.

Except that, while Omar’s mind might conjure Ander up, it definitely wouldn’t conjure up the man sitting next to him with his hand on Ander’s leg. The man who’s everything Omar is not, tall and sturdy and chiselled in all the right places, with a jawline that could rival Ander’s and long hair pulled back into a tight bun. The man who snakes an arm around Ander’s shoulder as Omar is watching them, gently touching his neck and causing Ander to look at him and nod at whatever he’s telling him with a smile. Ander turns back to scowl at the drink he’s nursing, but it doesn’t make Omar feel any better.

It all feels almost surreal, and Omar knows he needs to tear his eyes away from Ander and get out of there before the inevitable happens. But before he can get his body to cooperate, he notices a commotion from his peripheral vision and realizes that not only is Valerio sitting on the same table as Ander, but that he’s also just spotted them. 

Omar’s attention snaps back to Ander, watching as his ex-boyfriend turns a pair of slightly confused eyes to Valerio before his gaze finally locks with Omar’s.

No room in the whole entire world has ever felt this small or suffocating, Omar is sure of it.

He tries to draw in a breath with much difficulty, watching as Ander and Valerio and a couple of other people, including the manbun next to Ander, get up and head straight their way.

Omar barely has time to say anything, only flashing Nadia a quick, terrified look before they’re right in front of them.

Nadia’s eyes widen in alarm, but she pulls herself together long enough to get up and hug their friends.

Omar allows himself to be swept into a hug by Valerio, trying to muster up a smile, but he stands firmly in place after, barely concealing the disappointment and downright anger that suddenly burns within him. Ander takes a step forward towards him and Omar crosses an arm protectively over his chest.

Ander gets the message immediately, swallowing thickly and looking guilty as he drops his half-outstretched hand to his side.

“We didn’t know you guys would be here!” Valerio yells excitedly over the music. 

“It was a spur of the moment thing,” Nadia explains.

Omar can’t stop himself. “It’s my fault. I had plans but got ditched, so I dragged them here.”

He raises his eyes pointedly at Ander before he turns an innocent smile towards Valerio.

Valerio leans forward, already tipsy or high or both, fingering the chain around Omar’s neck and smiling flirtatiously. “What idiot who would ditch you?”

Omar shrugs, rolling his eyes at Valerio and shoving him away lightly. “One who had a better offer, apparently.”

“Omar...” Ander murmurs, and it’s funny how Omar can hear him even over the loud music. 

He does reach out a hand this time but Omar steps back before he can touch him.

“Well, if you want a good time, you know where to find me,” Valerio offers, completely oblivious to Omar and Ander’s sideshow. “This is so great!” He moves around the table, plopping down on one of the couches. “We can all sit together! This is Nora, Claudio and Dani.” Right. Dani. Of course, that’s Dani. “This is Lu, Guzmán, Nadia and Omar.”

Omar can’t stop the delirious chuckle that escapes him, almost like his body isn’t his to control in that moment. He finds himself moving away and offering his place on the couch to Ander and Dani. “Please, sit down.” 

Dani flashes him a smile before he sits down next to Nadia, but Ander remains frozen in place.

Omar grabs his drink off the table and starts to walk away, but he’s stopped by Ander wrapping his fingers firmly around his forearm. “Omar...”

He hears Nadia call out his name too, but his eyes are on Ander, and even the closeness between them can’t bring Omar to feel anything but betrayal. “Don’t be rude, Ander,” he spits out. “Go sit with your date.”

And then he snatches his arm back from Ander’s grip and walks away.

He wanders around until he finds the bathroom. It’s blissfully empty, so he sets his drink down and grabs onto the edge of the sink with both hands, taking deep breaths and trying to soak in everything that’s happened today.

Ander actually ditched him for someone else. Someone that he’s been seeing on and off for a while. The fact that Omar hadn’t seen much of Dani, or any of him, really, had lulled him into a false sense of security, thinking that whatever Ander had with Dani wasn’t at all serious. But it’s apparently serious enough that today, on what is probably the last day Omar can see Ander before going back to New York, Ander put Dani first.

And if that doesn’t tell Omar everything he needs to know about where he and Ander stand now, then he doesn’t know what will.

He takes another deep breath, splashing some water on his face and allowing his sudden epiphany to sink in. 

Ander is with someone else, Omar is going back to New York in 72 hours, and Omar and Ander are well and truly _over_.

He’s not entirely sure why he feels so calm. It’s not that it hurts any less than he expects, because it hurts more, like a motherfucker, really, his entire body pulsating with pain. 

It’s just that being able to put a label on what he and Ander are, even if that label is _over_ , is a sort of relief in and of itself.

Or maybe whatever is happening right now hasn’t really sunk in yet, and he’ll feel the wrath of it tomorrow or in a week or in a month. 

Whatever the reason, he feels fine right now. Or at least, not broken. 

“Omar.”

Omar looks up to find Nadia’s reflection staring back at him in the mirror. 

“I’m okay,” he says immediately, grabbing a paper towel to dry off and turning to face her. He leans back against the sink, grabbing his drink and taking a sip. “Really, Nadia, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Nadia walks closer to her brother. “Because at home you seemed really upset and you said you didn’t want Ander here and now he’s here and he’s sitting with us and I don’t know what happened between you two but I don’t want you to be upset. You’re my priority here, Omar, so if you want to bail, we bail right now, no questions asked. Even if I have to ditch Guzmán and Lu.”

And Omar knows without the shred of a doubt that his sister means every word coming out of her mouth right now. He leans forward and wraps an arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple.

He pulls back but keeps a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I know, and I love you for it.” He pauses, smiling humourlessly. “We were supposed to hang out today. Me and Ander.” He doesn’t know why he decides to tell her now, but he doesn’t question it, letting the words flow out of his mouth. Nadia inhales sharply, but otherwise doesn’t say anything. “I asked him out, sort of, and he said yes. And the date was today. And he bailed this afternoon because he said something came up and I come here to find him with another guy.”

“Omar…”

Omar shakes his head, swallowing thickly.

“It’s fine,” he insists. “At least now I know. And I don’t want you to have to choose sides, and you can’t protect me from this. He’s a grown-ass free man who can do whatever he wants.” He shrugs, biting the inside of his cheek. “Even if that means blowing me off to go on a date.”

“Right,” Nadia agrees. “But you don’t have to be there to witness that date.”

“We deserve a fucking night out,” Omar objects. “And Madrid is big enough for me and Ander.” _It has to be. “_ So we’re not leaving. And even if I do leave,” he adds as an afterthought, “you’re staying.”

Nadia frowns. “Like hell I am.”

“If I leave, it’ll be because I need to be alone, so you won’t be doing me any favours by tagging along,” Omar says simply. “And I already feel like shit, I don’t need to be thinking about how I ruined your last night out with Guzmán. You guys won’t be seeing each other for a while, so you’re going to stay with your boyfriend and have fun and we’re gonna dance and I’m gonna drink and we’ll go back to New York in a few days. It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

If he says it enough times, maybe he’ll believe it.


	11. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can Ander be so calm when Omar feels like his blood is literally boiling?

When they walk back to their table, Nadia takes her seat next to Guzmán while Omar walks over to the other side of the table to wedge himself between Lu and Valerio. He can feel Ander’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look at him, setting his drink on the table in front of him and smiling at Lu when she looks at him. 

She doesn’t have to say anything for him to know she’s checking that he’s okay, her hand squeezing his thigh lightly, and he only bumps his shoulder with hers, nodding his head.

It doesn’t take long after that until she and Nadia drag him out to the dance floor, and as he promised Nadia, they dance, and he drinks, and they have fun, and he barely sees Ander, and Omar is okay.

But then reality comes kicking in.

Omar is walking back to their table when he notices one of the bartenders having a laugh with a guy sitting there. They’re not particularly cute and he doesn’t know either of them, but they’re clearly flirting with one another and Omar’s mind is suddenly flooded with memories of Ander keeping him company at the bar in Barceló. He has to force his eyes away and take a deep breath. 

But it’s like this one single memory opens up a floodgate of others, because he’s suddenly transported back to his old workplace, every corner of the club revealing another memory he’s buried in the back of his mind.

The dance floor where Omar and Ander kissed and kissed and kissed until they could barely breathe. The bar where Ander called Omar his boyfriend for the first time. The back room where Omar cheated on Ander. 

The memories grow more painful as they progress, flashes of a night when Ander told Omar to go to New York, when Omar vowed he wouldn’t let Ander throw away his life to protect anyone, when they had to watch Polo die, when Omar felt more terrified than he’d ever felt before in his life, when he and his friends did everything they could to protect someone they loved… it’s all too much and he can’t breathe and he has to fucking get out of there.

He staggers his way to their table, grabbing his jacket off the couch.

Ander is nowhere to be seen, which is a blessing in itself, but Nadia stands up abruptly and Omar shakes his head, reaching for the pack in his pocket and pretending he’s only going out for a smoke.

It’s a lie, of course, but it appeases Nadia enough for her to sit back down. He’ll text her to let her know he’s gone when he’s far enough that she can’t catch up to him, Omar decides.

He’s just crossed the street, contemplating whether or not to actually take out a cigarette, when he hears his name being called, the familiar deep voice halting him in place. 

His heart jumps to his throat as he turns around to find Ander standing at the street light, waiting for it to turn. 

Their eyes lock together and for a moment, Omar doesn’t know what to do. But then he decides he’s not really up for talking to Ander right now. He takes a step back, eyes still firmly on Ander’s, and then another, and he’s just about to turn and tail it out of there when Ander realizes what Omar’s about to do. And like the absolute dumbass with no sense of self-preservation that he is, Ander races across the street without waiting for the light to turn. He nearly gets hit twice in the process, barely flinching as a dozen honks and angry voices sound around him, his eyes trained on Omar and nowhere else.

Omar is absolutely livid. Of all the stupid, _stupid_ things Ander has ever done, running over to Omar in front of actual moving cars has got to be the winner. 

“ANDER!” He rushes to him and grabs him firmly by the collar, making sure he’s safely off the road and on the sidewalk before shoving him away angrily. “WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING DOING, YOU IDIOT? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN YOURSELF KILLED!” 

Ander barely reacts to Omar’s push, steadying himself somehow sluggishly and impressively fast at the same time, walking back to him almost mechanically. “Where are you going?”

How can Ander be so calm when Omar feels like his blood is literally boiling? 

He takes in Ander’s pale face, and the way his eyes are flickering erratically, and the way he swallows thickly several times after he asks his question. 

_He’s wasted_ , Omar realizes, all the anger draining out of him, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion.

* * *

_“I told you to wait! What are you doing?”_

_Omar watches his boyfriend flip him off and stumble his way away from the bar._

_He leans down to pick up the straws on the floor, fuming._

_Ander is wasted and bitter and it’s bringing out the worst in him._

_Omar has gotten drunk with him a fair few times, enough to know all his drunk alter egos, and this aggressive, cranky and downright rude version of Ander is by far his least favourite. He only gets like this when he’s drank way, way,_ way _over the limit. And yet Omar is sure he’s only served him three drinks tonight, nowhere near enough to get Ander anything more than tipsy, which means he definitely started drinking before he got here._

_Omar watches as Ander hugs a guy he doesn’t even know, walking away and clumsily picking up Guzmàn’s drink before continuing to stumble his way around the VIP room._

_And then he starts spinning and sipping and dancing, and Omar can’t focus on his fucking job because Ander is beautiful and terrifying in equal measure, lost in a world of his own. A world that he won’t let Omar be a part of, even though it seems to be draining the life out of him little by little._

_Omar knows what’s going to happen before it does, but it’s still not enough to get him to move sooner. He’s transfixed, really, that by the time Ander’s knees finally give, the drink flying out of his hand as he tumbles down unconscious, Omar is still nowhere near him._

_It takes him a moment to understand that it’s not his imagination playing tricks on him, that Ander really is lying on the floor unconscious, and he hurls himself across the room when he finally does, shaking Ander to wake him up, begging someone to help, to call an ambulance, to do something._

_Ander’s fine, the medics tell Omar. He doesn’t hear much of what they say after that. Something about too much alcohol and too little food, about overheating and not enough air._

_Omar doesn’t let go of Ander’s hand the entire time, watching him as he floats in and out of consciousness, waiting for Guzmán to pull over and help Ander into his car._

_Omar jumps into the backseat with Ander wordlessly, cradling his boyfriend’s head on his lap and softly threading his fingers through his hair._

_He’s still shaking, he realizes after a few minutes. He lets out something between a sob and a cough, the tears that were pooling behind his lids finally escaping and running down his cheeks. Omar has never felt this terrified. Not even when his parents found out he was dealing. Not even when he stood up to his father. Not even when he got kicked out of his own home._

_Guzmán looks at him briefly in the rear-view mirror, something close to sympathy on his face, before he wordlessly lowers the backseat window. Omar can breathe a little better._

_He doesn’t know what’s wrong with Ander. He doesn’t know how to help him, or be there for him, or get him to talk to him. He just knows that none of this is healthy, for either of them, and if there’s even the tiniest possibility that any of what Ander’s going through is caused by Omar moving into his house, then he needs to go._

_His first pay check is due in three days. He’ll be out of Ander’s house that afternoon._

* * *

“Home,” Omar tells him, his voice as tired as he feels. “I’m going home.”

Ander’s features twist into an almost-smile as he walks closer to Omar, reaching out a hand to grasp his elbow clumsily. It immediately takes Omar back to that night after Samuel’s party all those years ago, when Ander sat down on a staircase in the middle of the night, watching Omar with sad, unfocused eyes, and trying so hard to understand why he wouldn’t give him more pills and kiss him and be with him.

Ander tightens his grip on Omar’s arm, carrying that same look on his face. “Why?” 

Omar sighs.

_Because I love you. And all we ever do is fucking hurt each other._

“What do you want, Ander?”

Ander shrugs, now using Omar as a crutch, grasping his arm like a lifeline. “I want to know why you’re here.”

Omar’s face twists in confusion as he tries to follow Ander’s zigzagging train of thought. “Because I felt like going out… what do you mean why am I here?”

Ander shakes his head, his eyes flashing with sudden clarity and firmly locking with Omar’s. “No. Why are you _here_? Why are you back in Madrid?” His nostrils flare, his face hardening almost menacingly for just a moment, before his façade crumbles entirely. Omar can’t breathe. “I was finally getting to a place where I was okay and happy without you. And then you just fucking show up and now you’re about to leave and I’m a fucking mess again and I have to go through that shit again and that’s the last thing I wanted. Why the fuck did you come back?”

Every word out of Ander’s mouth feels like a punch straight to Omar’s gut, swiftly knocking the wind out of him and reminding him that he’s the absolute scum of the earth.

Because while he’s been focused on his pain and his wants and his own need to see Ander again, he failed to think about Ander’s pain and wants and needs, and how they might not align with his own.

_Selfish._

The guilt surging in his body renders him nearly paralyzed, but he manages to shake his head as he tries to say something, eyes burning with unshed tears.

Anything, really.

“I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Ander looks like he wants to speak, but then he turns sharply away from Omar and empties the contents of his stomach on the sidewalk, nearly toppling to the ground. Omar rushes to hold him and rub his back as Ander continues to throw up. He helps him move aside and lean back against the wall nearby after, keeping a firm hold on him.

And because he’s a selfish bastard, Omar pulls out his phone, looking for the first person that comes to mind and dialling his number. 

He can’t leave Ander alone, but he feels like his knees are about to buckle and he really needs to be somewhere else right now. Preferably in his bed in New York where he can’t hurt Ander anymore. But anywhere in the world other than this sidewalk will do in this moment.

It takes Guzmán all of two minutes to find them, immediately reaching over to wrap an arm around Ander’s waist and help him straighten up.

Omar is all but ready for a raging Guzmán who will undoubtedly be furious at the sight of Ander like that. A Guzmán who will yell at Omar and maybe even punch him.

But Guzmán only makes sure Ander is tucked safely by his side, urging Omar to go.

“It’s okay, I’ve got him,” he reassures, voice soft as he looks at Omar.

It’s unsettling, really, the understanding radiating from his eyes, like he _knows_ what Omar’s going through. Like he doesn’t blame him.

It’s like no one seems to want to hold Omar accountable for being a selfish asshole. It’s infuriating, really.

Omar shakes his head to clear it, his eyes travelling back to Ander’s pale face. “He needs some water. A lot of it. And maybe some—“

“I’ll take care of him, don’t worry,” Guzmán reassures, smiling warmly at him. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

Omar nods as he starts to back away slowly, half of him ready to bail and the other half not ready to leave Ander. All of him hurts. 

“Guzmán.” Guzmán’s gaze flickers to Omar, brow furrowed slightly. “Text me when he’s home safe.” 

Guzmán nods with the hint of a smile as Omar takes one last look at Ander before turning away and going home. 

* * *

Guzmán texts him about an hour later. Omar pretends to be asleep when Nadia gets home.

He doesn’t sleep, of course, barely managing a full hour the entire night, plagued by dreams and thoughts and nightmares and memories that muddle ominously together and keep Omar alert, anxious and tired the entire night.

He barely leaves his bed the next day, and thankfully no one tries to get him to. He passes out from sheer exhaustion sometime after 6 in the evening.

* * *

When he wakes up the day after, his parents are nowhere to be found and Nadia is taking care of the shop. He offers to help but she takes one look at him and sends him inside the house to rest.

He’s gotten enough rest, he decides, propping his duffel up on his bed and starting to throw his clothes into it. They leave at the crack of dawn, after all, and he still hasn’t gotten around to packing. 

He showers after, and he’s just about finished getting dressed and started towel drying his hair when he hears the sound of footsteps outside, followed by a light knock on his open door.

He turns around, expecting Nadia, or maybe one or both of his parents. What he doesn’t expect is to find Ander standing in the doorway, looking as exhausted as Omar feels, but marginally better than he did the last time he saw him.

Omar inhales sharply, brow furrowing lightly, his thoughts all over the place. He takes a step towards Ander before he’s hit with an overwhelming sense of panic and worry that his parents will come home and find Ander in his bedroom and find out Omar is gay and in love with a boy and kick him out on the street.

He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that this is all in the past. That his parents know and accept who he is now.

“I’m sorry, maybe I should’ve texted...” Ander mumbles, clearly misinterpreting the evident panic on Omar’s face. “Nadia let me in.”

Omar shakes his head immediately.

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s... I mean, yes, you’re here and I’m a little confused but it’s not why I’m— it’s, um, old habits die hard,” he manages. “And you’re in my parents’ house. In my bedroom.”

Ander nods, understanding colouring his face. “I mean, I’m not technically in your bedroom yet.”

Omar manages a smile, raising his eyebrows. “Yet.”

Ander’s lips curl up in a small, lopsided grin. “Unless you want me to leave?” He looks down at his feet momentarily, seemingly considering his next words carefully. “Which, given how I acted the last time I saw you, you’d be right to.”

Omar shakes his head profusely. “No.” What happened at the club was Omar’s fault. He shouldn’t have asked Ander out, or even come back in the first place. “No, I don’t want you to leave.”

Ander nods, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as he lifts his head to look at Omar. He clears his throat. 

“I lied,” Ander admits. “I don’t know how to be your friend.” Omar’s chest aches. “I can’t— I don’t want to. I don’t want to be your friend.”

Omar swallows thickly, suddenly overcome with the need to be close to Ander, and for the first time in a long time, he lets himself go. 

He doesn’t know who makes the first step, whether he goes to Ander or Ander comes to him, but they collide in the middle, their lips meeting for the first time in years. And yeah, Omar really hates all those fucking clichés about coming home and feeling whole and all that true love shit, but when Ander’s hands find Omar’s cheeks, fingers lightly brushing the nape of his neck, Omar feels like he can actually breathe for the first time in a long time. And the permanent faint buzzing in the background is somehow muted and his lungs can draw in all the air he needs and he’s resurfaced from the bottom of the ocean he’s been stuck in since he was 17.

Kissing Ander feels so familiar and so new at the same time, and he wants so much more of it that he can’t help but grasp Ander’s shirt and pull him impossibly closer, raking his other hand through his curls. 

It’s needy and tender and rough and gentle and hungry and slow and fast and clumsy all at once. It’s all the kisses Omar’s been craving for the past two years.

It’s kissing to make up for lost time. Because they lost each other and they hurt each other.

It’s with that last thought that Omar is brought back to the real world; a world where Ander crossed the street like a maniac, stumbling his way to Omar brokenly and pleading with Omar to stop hurting him.

It doesn’t matter how much Omar loves Ander. All he does is hurt him.

It takes every ounce of willpower in him for Omar to pull back, but he uses his grip on Ander’s shoulder to push him back firmly and force their lips apart. 

“Ander,” he manages, trying to get Ander’s attention and bring him back to reality. Ander shakes his head, going in for another kiss and Omar obliges, allowing himself to get lost in the moment for another few blissful seconds before he pushes him away again. Ander lets go of his lips more easily this time, like he’s slowly emerging from the bubble they suddenly got lost in. “Ander, we can’t,” Omar murmurs, the words painful on his tongue, but he keeps his eyes closed and their foreheads pressed together. 

His grip on Ander’s shirt only tightens, not wanting to let go of him, and Ander doesn’t make to move just yet, dropping his hands from Omar’s face to clutch his shirt on either side of his waist.

_This fucking sucks_ , Omar decides. _Being selfless fucking sucks._

Ander’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Why?”

“Because you were right.” Omar pulls away to look at Ander. “I’m an asshole. I shouldn’t have come back.”

Ander shakes his head quickly, tugging on Omar’s waist to pull him closer, but he stands firmly in place.

“No, Omar,” Ander argues weakly. “No, I was wrong. I was drunk, and I wanted to hurt y—“

Omar stop him. “You were drunk but you weren’t wrong.” He doesn’t trust himself to do the right thing by Ander if the latter keeps making excuses for his selfishness. “You said it yourself. You’re happy without me. Better without me. You’re with someone who’s good to you, who won’t fuck you up like I do, and I’m going back to New York.”

“You don’t fuck me up.”

“Ander—“

“Look, I know you’re going back to New York and that we can’t keep doing this and all that,” Ander interrupts him, leaning away to level Omar with a look. “But I need you to understand that I’m not messed up because of you. I need to know that you know that.” 

Omar nods, leaning into Ander’s touch when he palms his cheek again, giving in when Ander pulls him in for a hug. He clasps his arms tightly around Ander’s back, allowing himself to be consumed by him for what he thinks is probably the last time.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, voice completely muffled in Ander’s shoulder.

“I know,” Ander murmurs. “I’m sorry, too.”


	12. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being back in New York is weird.

Being back in New York is weird. Everything feels so foreign and new and loud and big, like Omar hasn’t been living here for the past two years.

He doesn’t remember having that hard a time adjusting the first time, but it feels different this time, like a part of him is still in Madrid.

He tries not to dwell on that, flushing it all to the back of his mind and trying to slowly settle back into his routine. He reacquaints himself with the city he’s come to love, working to find the rhythm of the life he’s come to lead here.

Madrid fades to the background but never disappears, the memory of his summer back home feeling more like a fever dream every day. 

* * *

He pours himself into his work. He looks for more freelance jobs to add to his portfolio, spending pretty much every waking moment either working on one of his projects, covering a shift at the pub or running errands for the house.

That’s another thing he takes upon himself; pulling more weight around the apartment. He knows that this year is the hardest and most critical for Lu and Nadia, so he sets on taking a lot of slack off their hands. 

He starts doing most of the cleaning around the house and going on grocery runs, making sure the fridge is always full and that the girls are always stocked up on everything they need. 

They both keep telling him he doesn’t have to do everything, but Omar insists. It keeps him busy and occupied so his mind doesn’t stray, and it actually feels pretty good to know he’s helping them in whichever small way he can.

Besides, it’s not the first time he’s felt the need to pull more weight at home.

* * *

_“There you are.” Omar looks up from the history textbook in his hands to find Azucena walking over to him, a smile on her face. “Ander is looking all over for you.” She looks at the powered on washing machine, frowning curiously. “What are you doing?”_

_“Hola,” Omar says, letting out a short, nervous chuckle as he drops the book onto the machine and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “Nothing, nothing,” he reassures. “I just got home early and figured I’d make myself useful.”_

_Azucena’s face softens. “Omar, you really didn’t have to. I don’t mind doing your load with mine and Ander’s.”_

_“I did yours as well,” Omar responds immediately, not wanting her to think he’s only taking care of his needs. He wants to help. “I don’t mind either,” he adds quickly, mustering up a small smile. “Though I’m not sure I got the settings right. The machine back at home…“ he trails off, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth. It’s not home, not really. Not anymore. “At, um, my parents’ place, it’s much less advanced than this one.”_

_Azucena smiles sympathetically as she approaches the machine._

_“It looks fine,” she tells him. “Thank you.”_

_Omar smiles and nod. He hears the sound of footsteps, and when he looks to his left, he finds Ander making his way down the stairs too._

_He swallows thickly, trying not to let it affect him too much._

_“Sure,” he manages, looking back at Azucena and smiling.._

_Even from his peripheral vision, Omar can see Ander’s eyes flicker curiously from Omar to his mom to the washing machine, before he walks past Azucena and stands next to Omar._ _“Hey.”_

_Omar looks away. “Hey.”_

_They stand there awkwardly for a moment, Ander staring at Omar, Omar looking anywhere else._

_Azucena is oblivious to the tension at first, but she catches on quickly. “Hey, I haven’t had lunch yet, so I’m gonna whip up a quick risotto. Any takers?”_

_Ander nods, turning to his mother. “I can eat.”_

_Omar is too busy staring at his feet and avoiding Ander’s gaze to notice Azucena waiting for his answer, until she calls out his name._

_“Oh, it’s okay, I’m fine,” he stammers. “I’m... I ate at school this morning— thank you.”_

_Azucena doesn’t say anything for a while, her look soft and almost fond. “I’ll make extra, anyway. You have to eat eventually, so when you change your mind, it’ll be there for you.”_

_Omar can’t find it in himself to say anything back, so he just smiles. He honestly doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone like Azucena in his life._

_She smiles too before she walks up the stairs, leaving Omar and Ander alone in the basement._

_Omar doesn’t say anything, still avoiding Ander’s eyes._

_Ander sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the chest freezer next to the washing machine. “You left the party without me last night.”_

_Omar looks up, finally meeting his eyes, barely able to contain the scoff that escapes his mouth._

_What was he supposed to do, after hearing Ander call him a horror show for what, the 4th time that evening? Was he just supposed to brush it away and wait for his boyfriend to decide he was worthy of his time?_

_“Didn’t think you’d notice,” Omar mumbles bitterly. “Or care.”_

_Ander’s eyebrows disappear under his curls. “What does that mean?”_

_Omar can’t believe that Ander is asking him any of this right now. He was a complete dick to him last night, and Ander might be a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. He’s very deliberate about the way he deals with people and knows perfectly well when he’s being shit to someone._

_“It means that the only time you weren’t ignoring me was to remind me how much you hated my costume or complain about yours. And then you disappeared with Guzmán for close to an hour, and when Guzmán came back, I didn’t even know where you were. So excuse me if the thought that you didn’t really care whether or not I left without you crossed my mind.”_

_Ander sighs, walking closer and reaching for Omar’s hand. Omar shakes him off, using his hands to hoist himself up on the freezer and sitting there, but Ander doesn’t give up. He moves to stand between Omar’s legs, reaching for his hand in his lap._

_“I’m sorry, Omar,” he mumbles, sounding sincere. “You’re right, I was a total dick. You just took me by surprise...”_

_Omar shakes his head, looking at their hands in his lap for the longest time. “It’s fine, Ander. I’m not looking for an apology, I don’t really care. You just asked why I bailed and I told you.”_

_“But you’re upset,” Ander argues softly, fisting the waist of Omar’s shirt._

_Of course Omar’s upset. All he wanted to do was spend a nice, fun evening with Ander and his friends. Instead, Ander looked repulsed by him for nearly the entire evening and ditched him for most of it, which led Omar to the realization that maybe he and Ander are not as strong as he thought they were. That maybe Ander doesn’t love him as much. That maybe he needs to move out of his place sooner rather than later._

_But he doesn’t have the energy or the will to get into any of that right now, so he chooses the easy way out. “I’m not upset, Ander.”_

_It’s a lie._

_Ander sighs, resting one of his hands against Omar’s cheek._

_Omar hates the way he automatically leans into the touch, his body betraying him completely. Sometimes he fucking hates how much he needs Ander._

_“How about I make it up to you tomorrow?” Omar looks up at Ander at the suggestion, a little curious. “I can keep you company at the pub for your shift?”_

_Omar can’t stop himself from reaching a hand to rake his fingers through Ander’s curls, his heart skipping a beat when Ander leans into his touch, closing his eyes._

_Maybe it’s not just Omar. Maybe Ander needs him too._

_“It’s your birthday tomorrow. I’m sure you have better plans, like going out to get wasted and celebrate with your friend.”_

_Ander shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Omar’s waist and pulling himself close, until their faces are inches apart._ _“I don’t want to go out with my friends. I only want to be with you.” He trails his hand up to trace Omar’s face again, allowing his fingers to linger on Omar’s eyebrow, his nose, his lips. “Besides, I can get wasted for a lot cheaper if you’re at the bar.”_

_Omar laughs lightly, his legs tightening on either side of Ander. “Ander, honestly. You don’t have to stay with me.”_

_Ander fingers Omar’s chain, forehead wrinkling. “I want to. Please? And then we can come home and you can get naked and treat me to my birthday gift?”_

_Omar snorts. “I mean, I did get you something, but if I’d known dick is all you wanted, I would’ve saved up some cash.”_

_Ander grins wickedly. “Not just any dick. Your dick.”_

_Omar rolls his eyes. “Always so eloquent.” Ander chuckles and leans forward, pressing their lips together. Omar groans against his boyfriend’s mouth. “Alright, fine.”_

_Ander pulls away, his face positively lighting up. “Yeah?”_

_Omar feels that familiar tightening in his chest again; that burst of warmth that Ander seems to always be the cause of._

_“Yeah,” he mumbles as he closes his eyes and presses their foreheads together, finally allowing himself to relax fully into Ander’s touch._

_Ander does the same, pressing a kiss to Omar’s cheek and wrapping his arms around his waist. He buries his face in Omar’s neck, his voice muffled completely when he speaks next. “Okay. Okay, good.”_

_Omar wraps his arms tightly around Ander’s neck, sensing that Ander really needs it right now but not fully understanding why. He wonders again what it is that Ander seems to so painfully be going through alone._

_He feels Ander really sink into him, and Omar’s heart seizes painfully. He runs his hand across Ander’s back gently, wishing he could do more than this. Ander somehow sinks even further into him, gripping his shirt firmly and hugging him tighter. Omar can almost feel the tension physically seeping out of him._

_“’You okay?” Omar ventures softly, still rubbing Ander’s back and kissing his shoulder lightly. Ander hums but otherwise doesn’t move, only gently nosing Omar’s collarbone. “Are you sure?”_

_Ander sighs against Omar, leaning back slightly but keeping his arms around him._

_“Yeah,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead to Omar’s cheek. “Yeah.” Omar’s fingers thread through Ander’s hair, gently ghosting through the locks and easing his tension. “I love you,” Ander murmurs after a minute._

_Omar’s heart jumps to his throat, something about Ander’s voice almost bringing tears to his eyes. He pulls him close again, pressing a kiss to his temple and burying his face in Ander’s hair._

_“Me too. I love you, too.”_

* * *

Two months after they’re back, Omar’s editor chooses his illustration for the cover of the magazine and his comic as the main feature.

Nadia and Lu frame a copy and hang it on the living room wall, right next to their joint honour-winning essay.

And even though he rolls his eyes and tries to brush it off as the girls making a bigger deal of it than it needs to be, Omar secretly feels pretty proud of himself.

* * *

Sometimes, he gets the urge to call Ander or text him or _something_. 

He’s not really sure how Ander would react to it, is the problem. They left on better terms than they did the last time Omar went to New York, but they’re still very much broken up and Ander’s very much with another dude. 

And then there’s also the fact that it turns out that he and Ander don’t actually know how to be friends.

_And also, hey, remember when Ander essentially told you he wishes you never went back to Madrid?_

Sometimes, he gets the urge to call Ander or text him or _something_. But he never does.

* * *

The first time he thinks about moving back to Spain, it’s 4 in the morning and he’s tossing in bed.

It’s a stupid idea. 

But the truth is, he has no idea what he’s going to do once Nadia and Lu graduate and move out of the apartment in the summer. So it might be something worth considering.

But maybe not at the crack of dawn when he’s delirious with exhaustion and in dire need of sleep.

* * *

He considers the move again three days later while he’s sitting on his fire escape and working on a small illustration for an independent project by some Japanese art house. 

It seems less absurd in the light of day, more like a genuine plan to think about.

He knows Lu and Nadia are both considering going back to Europe after this year, so he’ll be on his own if he stays. And he doesn’t want to be on his own.

He loves his life here so much, but he never saw it as something permanent, and going back to Madrid this past summer only reminded him of how much he actually misses being there. 

He doesn’t even have to worry about finding work if he goes back. He’s been getting more freelance projects from publishers in Japan and London and Los Angeles, and if he can do it from here, there’s no reason he can’t do it from back home.

And that’s what it boils down to, really. No matter how much he loves New York, Madrid is the only place he ever really thinks of as _home_.

His fingers knot up around the digital pen he’s holding, his head feeling like it’s gonna burst from hours of staring at a screen, so he sets his laptop aside and lights himself a cigarette, leaning back against the railing and closing his eyes.

His phone pings with a notification, and he sighs as he looks at the screen.

**_Andrés_ **

_his head is firmly out of his ass_

His heart jumps to his throat as he presses the notification open, almost certain it’s a mistake. It has to be. Ander wouldn’t text him on purpose, would he?

But when the chat window opens, he finds the message followed by two pictures: the first is of Rebeka and Samuel kissing on what looks like Rebeka and Ander’s living room couch, and the second is of both of them flipping the camera off while still kissing. 

Omar is sort of glad he’s alone right now because he legitimately giggles in absolute joy, not really sure if he’s happier about Rebeka and Samuel figuring their shit out or about Ander being the one to tell him. 

One thing he does know, though, is that he absolutely has to reply. Ander just took a very big step and Omar would be a damn fool not to meet him halfway.

**_Omar_ **

_That little shit didn’t tell me anything. We talked yesterday!_

_And I facetimed Rebe this morning wtf I can’t believe you found out before me_

**_Andrés_ **

_Now u know how I feel when u know shit abt Guzmán that I dont_

**_Omar_ **

_I hate it_

**_Andrés_ **

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**_Omar_ **

_I hate you_

**_Andrés_ **

_weird flex but ok_

* * *

Omar doesn’t get much work done after, his head swimming with the implications of Ander texting him.

That night, he’s scrolling through his photo album when he stumbles on a couple of pictures from their trip to San Sebastián.

There’s one picture in particular that makes him laugh, of him with Ander, Rebeka, Samuel, Valerio and Guzmán all piled on top of one another on the couch. 

It had been Samuel’s brilliant idea to keep Guzmán from napping, throwing himself on top of the poor man. Never one to resist a pile of men, Valerio had decided he wanted in on that shit and thrown himself on top of the two of them, before calling for Omar who dragged Ander along. And Rebeka? Well, she decided to climb up and straddle Ander like her very own mechanical bull.

As their self-proclaimed photographer, Lu had snatched her phone immediately and started snapping maniacally.

Guzmán didn’t try napping again all weekend.

Feeling particularly sappy, Omar decides to post the picture to his Instagram, tagging his friends and simply captioning the picture with the word _fam._

He wakes up the next morning to a bunch of comments and likes, but the only thing he cares about is the black heart emoji Ander leaves in the comment section. 

* * *

“Alright, I’m out. I have to pick up a bunch of shit for Cat. Omar.” Omar looks up from the counter he’s wiping, watching Fae round the bar and pick up her backpack. “If I’m not back in time for closing, can you take care of it?”

Omar drops the wipe in the sink, nodding dumbly. She’s leaving, he realizes, finally re-emerging from his own thoughts. He has to talk to her today, he decides. Now. Before she leaves. He’s been putting it off for too long. It can’t wait anymore.

“Wait, Fae. Before you go, I need to talk to you.”

Fae raises her eyebrows but drops her bag, a small, knowing smile upturning her lips.

“Uh oh. Why do I feel like I’m about to be broken up with?” Omar huffs a small laughs but otherwise remains quiet. “Alright,” she mumbles, nodding her head in the general direction of the back door. “Let’s go out back for a smoke.”

Omar takes his apron off and throws it on the counter behind him before he walks after her, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. 

He pulls out his cigarette once they’re outside and props it between his lips, accepting Fae’s light. “Thanks.” 

Fae nods as she blows out some smoke, leaning back against the wall and shoving one hand into the pocket of her baggy jeans. “I’m ready. Come on, get it over with. I knew this day was gonna come eventually but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

Omar smiles, somewhat relaxing. Of course Fae knows he’s about to quit. Of course he’s been stressing about nothing.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” And it’s true. He didn’t want to leave, but it feels like he doesn’t really have a choice at this point. Either the pub goes or everything else he’s working hard for goes. “You know how much I love working here and I tried to delay this as much as I could, but I'm literally not getting any sleep anymore to meet deadlines and juggle all my shit. I have to quit.” Fae’s smile turns a little sad, causing Omar’s heart to squeeze painfully in his chest. “I’m not gonna hang you out to dry,” he promises quickly, trying to reassure her. ”Take the time you need to find a replacement. But as soon as you do, I’m out.”

“Not to be sappy on main, but no one could replace you.” 

Even though she tries to smile, Fae looks uncharacteristically upset.

Omar bumps her shoulder with his gently. “I really am sorry.”

Fae waves him off, blinking quickly to rid herself of whatever physical manifestation of her emotions was about to come out. 

“It’s fine, kid,” she reassures, taking another drag from her cigarette. “I’m just unhealthily attached to you, but I’ll be fine.” Omar smiles. “I mean, sure, I wish you could stay. You’re literally my fav bartender that I’ve ever hired. But I get it, you have to go for greener pastures and all that shit,” she shrugs. “It’s a tough life, but at least we can still hang out. It’s not like you’re leaving the country.”

Omar swallows thickly, nodding. But then he decides to be honest, for the first time voicing what he’s been thinking about for a while now. 

“Well, I’m in the country for now, anyway.” Fae pushes herself off the wall to properly look at him, her eyebrows nearly disappearing in her hair. Omar shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about moving back to Spain,” he confesses. “I haven’t completely made up my mind yet,” he adds quickly, trying to convince himself more than her, “but Lu and Nadia are both leaving New York this summer, and it just… I don’t know.”

“Is this about your pretty white boy?”

Omar huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “No, not this time. I mean, yes. I miss him, but that’s over, for real this time. And I think I’m ready to go back even if that means seeing him happy with someone else,” he admits with some difficulty. It’s the truth, though. He wants Ander to be happy, even if it’s not with him. “But it’s not just about missing him and everyone back home. Being there made me feel good. No, not good.” He shakes his head again, trying to focus his thoughts and find a way to verbalize his feelings. “I don’t know how to explain it. It felt easy...”

“Hey, man, I get it,” Fae interrupts, saving him from trying to find the words that seem to permanently elude him these days. “I consider myself a New Yorker through and through, now. Have been for close to a decade. I thrive in this fucking city and feel like all those dumb songs are right, I can conquer the world here and live a thousand years and make all my fucking dreams come true here.” She pauses for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek and shrugging her shoulders. “But I go back to my hillbilly hometown in the middle of fucking nowhere and I can breathe. It’s crawling with racists and homophobes and that’s why I can never live there again, but if I could, I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

Omar breathes a sigh of relief, feeling so elated at being so understood. To be told that choosing to leave his perfect life here for a probably not-so-perfect one in Madrid is not necessarily a stupid idea. 

He finally looks up from his feet, a hopeful half-smile on his face as his eyes settle on Fae’s. “So you don’t hate me?”

“What are you on about, you idiot,” Fae mutters, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair affectionately before dropping it to straighten his collar. “Tell you what, though, I’m not gonna miss your hideous floral shirts.”

Omar cackles, swatting her hands away. “You wish you had my closet.” Fae scoffs, shoving him. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you pictures of my outfits every single day,” he promises.

“Bitch, I will throw hands,” Fae threatens, and Omar laughs louder. She settles down after a moment, blowing out some smoke and turning a pair of serious eyes to Omar. “If you ever need some extra cash or things get tight, you can pick up a shift. Anytime, no questions asked. I mean it.”

Omar smiles. “I know.” 

“And you better come by, like, at least every day,” she adds. “Bring that sketchpad or your iPad or your laptop or whatever you need to be artsy and come camp out at the bar.” 

Omar laughs, nodding his head and stubbing his cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “I will.”

Fae doesn’t wait for him to say anything else, closing the space between them and wrapping her arms tight around him. “I’m gonna miss you when you’re gone, dickhead.”

Omar smiles into her shoulder. “Me too.”


	13. XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s going to miss this, next year. 

“Guzmán‘s coming.”

“Nadia, no, we don’t need to know that—“ Lu stops abruptly, her eyebrows disappearing in her hairline as she looks away from her laptop, gaze flickering from Nadia to Omar on the floor next to her. She holds a finger up, watching as Nadia climbs outside the window and settles on her other side. “Am I delirious because I haven’t slept in weeks, or have we actually had this exact conversation before?”

Omar chuckles, setting his sketch pad aside and slinging an arm around Lu’s shoulder. They’ve been outside working for hours, Omar sketching some ideas for a new project he’s working on and Nadia and Lu preparing some big presentation they have. 

“Pretty sure we have,” he mutters, leaning his head against Lu’s temple. “Unless Nadia’s actually talking about her and Guzmán sexting this time.”

Nadia winces, propping her laptop open. “Yeah, no, it’s still not about that. In fact, let’s get this out of the way now: it will never be about that.” 

Lu snorts as Omar laughs again, leaning forward to look at his sister. “When’s he coming, then? Christmas?”

Nadia nods, her eyes glued to her screen as she starts typing on her laptop. “His exams finish pretty early, actually, so he’s coming late November, and he’ll stay until after New Year’s.”

“Okay, that’s actually in, like, less than a month.”

Nadia smiles. “I know!”

“And he’s staying a decent amount of time,” Omar adds excitedly.

Unlike the last time Nadia told them Guzmán’s coming to stay over, Omar is actually looking forward to seeing his friend and spending time with him this time. 

“Aww, look at Omar and Guzmán bromancing and all,” Lu coos next to him, plastering a fake smile on her face but otherwise keeping her focus on her work.

“Don’t be jealous, Lucrecia,” Omar teases, using the hand around her shoulder to pinch her cheek. She swats his fingers away, which only makes him laugh. “You’ll always be my number one.” He pauses, staring thoughtfully at his feet. “Well, maybe number two, Samu is my number one.” Lu gasps, abandoning her laptop to stare at Omar. “Oh and Rebe, too. Okay, so you’re definitely, definitely number three—no, wait, that’s not right. Nadia’s my sister, she has to be in the top three.”

“You put Narco Barbie before me?” Lu looks as offended as she sounds, her voice echoing in the alleyway as Nadia cackles loudly. “Bitch, I sat through a two-hour nerd convention for you!”

Omar holds a hand up in front of him apologetically, plastering an innocent smile on his face. “I’m sorry, it’s just how it is.”

Lu scoffs, yanking his arm from around her shoulder. “You know what then, next time you’re sick, you can make your own fucking soup.” 

Omar laughs loudly, wrapping both arms around Lu’s waist before she can get up and leave.

“I’m sorry!” he wails exaggeratedly. “I’m sorry, I was kidding. You’re my number one, Lucrecia Montesinos, and always will be. Don’t leave me,” he pleads, holding on to her tightly and squeezing. “Make me soup.”

“You’re my number one, too,” Nadia jumps in, also setting her laptop aside and hugging Lu from the other side. 

“Oh my god, stop hugging me, we’re on the fire escape, people can see,” Lu hisses, not quite succeeding at masking the laugh she’s so desperately trying to hide.

Nadia shrugs. “Tough luck.”

“This is actually pretty relaxing,” Lu admits after a moment, settling back. “I think I might nap like that.” 

Omar and Nadia both laugh lightly as they pull away, Omar picking up his sketchpad while Lu and Nadia reach for their laptops again.

He’s going to miss this, next year. 

But that’s a long way from now. He has Guzmán’s visit to look forward to before then, and he’s excited for all the right reasons this time.

Ander won’t be with him, Omar knows. He doesn’t even dare hope, this time.

* * *

26 days later, when Guzmán wanders into the arrivals zone at the terminal, Ander is right by his side. 

Omar breathes in sharply when he spots him, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest.

This is all just figment of his imagination. It has to be. It’s just his mind, manifesting the hope he’s tried so hard to bury this past month and playing tricks on him. It has to be. 

But then Guzmán spots them and elbows Ander lightly, gesturing towards them, and Ander finally sees them too, his grin widening as his eyes lock firmly on Omar’s.

Nadia lets out a very uncharacteristic half-shriek-half-chuckle next to Omar, wrapping an arm loosely around his shoulder and whispering “surprise!” in his ear before she kisses his cheek and rushes to jump into Guzmán’s waiting arms.

The two collide next to Ander, who takes a moment to watch his friends fondly, a smile playing on his lips, but then he continues walking, only coming to a stop when he’s in front of Omar. 

He draws his lower lip between his teeth - a sign of him being nervous, Omar knows - and adjusts the duffel on his shoulder.

Omar can’t do anything but stare with his mouth hanging open, still not daring to believe this is real.

Ander’s curls looks matted even though his hair is sticking up oddly in places, probably from hours of sleeping on a plane. His eyes are tired and bruised. And when he swallows nervously, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. He fiddles with the strap of his duffel again, taking another step towards Omar, eyes searching.

And Omar’s breath catches in his throat because the Ander in front of him _looks_ real, his imperfections and mannerisms too real for Omar’s mind to make up.

_He’s really here_ , Omar realizes, his lips finally curling up as he allows the hope bubbling in his chest to take over him.

Ander seems to take it as a good sign because he sets his bag on the ground and clears his throat lightly.

“Samu and Rebe told me to get my head out of my ass,” he shrugs, trying to maintain a casual tone, but his voice breaks anyway.

And Omar can’t do anything but laugh, Ander’s implication washing over him and making him giddy. He walks over to Ander and wraps his arms tightly around his neck, nearly knocking the wind out of them both. He thinks he might burst with happiness when Ander’s arms snake around his waist, holding onto him just as tight.

“I can’t believe you’re actually fucking here.” 

His voice is muffled in Ander’s shoulder, but he knows Ander hears him, squeezing him even tighter.

“You keep choosing New York, so I figured I’d see for myself what the fuss is about,” he tells him and Omar laughs again.

He finally pulls away but keeps one hand on Ander’s shoulder, stubbing an accusing finger against his chest. “You didn’t fucking tell me you were coming.”

Ander’s entire face lights up, his lips curling up in amusement and causing Omar’s heart to double in size. “That would’ve defeated the point of the surprise.”

“You’re not the only one who knows how to pull a surprise appearance off,” Guzmán chimes in before Ander can say anything else, coming up behind him with an arm wrapped firmly around Nadia’s shoulder. Omar looks at him in shock, having legitimately forgotten that anyone other than Ander even existed in that moment. He lets go of Ander only to get swept into Guzmán’s arms as Nadia and Ander embrace next to them. “Besides,” Guzmán adds when he puts Omar down, a conspiratorial look on his face, “Ander couldn’t risk us bonding some more without him.”

Omar’s amused laugh echoes loudly through the airport.

* * *

Guzmán and Nadia disappear in her room as soon as they reach the apartment, leaving Omar and Ander to their own devices. 

Omar is a little nervous, but he calms down relatively fast seeing as Ander passes out on the living room couch pretty much straight away, his long flight catching up to him. He tries not to freak out like a hormonal teen when he realizes that Ander is technically passed out on his bed, loosely covering him with a blanket and watching him with mild awe. 

He’s legitimately here, in New York. And Omar doesn’t want to blow things out of proportion, but the proportions are pretty big already. And it’s absolutely terrifying and exciting at the same time, like things are finally slotting into place.

He peels his eyes off Ander’s sleeping form, grabbing his laptop from his backpack and heading outside to get some work done.

If it were any other day, he’d blow his work to the wind because he knows he’s going to have a hard time focusing on anything other than the fact that Ander is in his living room right now. But as it is, he doesn’t have the luxury to say fuck you to his work; he’s got a deadline tonight and really, really, really doesn’t want to piss off his boss.

So he forces himself to tune out his racing thoughts and focus on the work at hand. 

It’s not long before Nadia peeks her head out the window. “So, good surprise?”

Omar looks up from his laptop, his mouth immediately curling up in a wide grin as he leans his head back and rubs his face tiredly. 

“Almost too good to be true,” he admits. He’s having a hard time believing that Ander is really in his living room right now. “It’s gonna be hella hard for me to pretend I’m moving on now.”

Nadia chuckles, raising her eyebrows. “I think Ander crossing the Atlantic Ocean to spend Christmas break with you is a pretty solid sign that maybe you shouldn’t be moving on just yet.” She’s right, of course, but something about hearing her put it so clearly causes Omar’s cheeks to flush, unable to curb his smile. “It was his idea, by the way,” Nadia adds after a moment. “Guzmán and I helped keep it a surprise, but he called me to check if it would be okay if he came with Guzmán.”

Omar swallows thickly, weighing the significance of Ander going through so much trouble to be here. Of him deciding to come here in the first place. 

“You never know, he could be here for Lu.” 

Nadia snorts, rolling her eyes. “Of course. That sounds like a very Ander thing to do.” Omar grins sheepishly and Nadia rolls her eyes again for good measure. “I’m going to pick some stuff up from the bodega ‘round the corner. We need something for dinner?”

Omar shakes his head. “I don’t have the time or energy to make dinner. I have a deadline.”

“We’ll order in.”

“Okay, awesome, so I just need coffee. This is the last bit,” he waves his mug vaguely in the air, “and I’m probably gonna have to work really late.”

Nadia’s face twists into a look of guilt. “I’m sorry I dragged you to the airport instead of letting you work. But as you can see, I had to.”

Omar laughs, shaking his head lightly. “It’s gonna be hard, but I think I’ll find it in me to forgive you.” 

“I’m sure you will,” Nadia says, straightening up and fixing her hijab into place. “Okay, I’m gonna head out and leave you to actually get some work done while the boys are sleeping. Text me if you need anything else.”

Omar smiles as he watches his sister disappear back inside before he hears the sound of the front door closing. 

He lights up a joint and sets about applying the finishing touches on his current comic. 

It’s barely half an hour later when he hears the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the patter of footsteps, and when he looks up, he finds a groggy-looking Ander staring back at him from the window with a small, tired, lopsided smile on his face. 

Omar’s insides twist at the sight of the boy in front of him. The last time he saw this Ander, unkempt and dishevelled and with pillow marks on the side of his face, they were still sharing a bed.

Ander rubs his eye, taking a gulp of water from the glass in his hand. “I need coffee.” His voice is deep and thick with sleep. 

Omar bites the inside of his cheek. “We’re out. Nadia’s getting some, but you can have mine until she’s back.” 

Ander nods with a smile, setting his empty glass on the kitchen counter and climbing on the fire escape. 

He plops down next to Omar, scooting close until they’re touching from shoulder to ankle. He cranes his neck to take in his surroundings, eyes wide open now.

Omar’s stomach clenches uncomfortably, feeling self-conscious and nervous all of a sudden. 

Ander is finally in Omar’s world. 

And it’s not like Omar doesn’t want him here. Quite the opposite, really, he’s had many dreams about Ander being right here with him, in this exact position. 

It’s just that ever since they first met, it’s always been Omar in Ander’s world.

It was Ander’s parents’ house that Omar used to sneak out to, and then it was Azucena’s house that he moved into. He’d gone to Las Encinas to meet Ander so many times he knew the school by heart. They went out with friends from Ander’s school and hung out at parties thrown by people from Ander’s social circle and went to their clubs and hung out in their spaces. When Omar started working in Madrid, it was at a place that was Ander’s before it was his. Even when he went back this past summer, they almost exclusively hung out at Ander’s place and at Ander’s restaurant.

In short, Omar was familiar with every inch of Ander’s world. But Ander knew nothing of his. 

Sure, he’d seen the shop, but that was the extent of it. He's not even sure that Ander has actually ever seen the school Omar went to, or met any of his friends outside of Samuel and Christian. And with the exception of that one time Ander came to see him at his parents’ house a few months ago, this is probably the first time that Ander has ever truly been in a space that’s so distinctly Omar’s.

It’s the most surreal thing, Omar decides.

Ander leans back against the railing, taking the offered mug from Omar’s hand and having a sip.

“It’s cold,” he groans, letting his head fall on Omar’s shoulder as he blinks his eyes closed, his curls tickling Omar’s cheek. 

Omar’s stomach flip-flops at the casual intimacy. “Thanks for that insightful update.”

“I can’t believe I come to visit you in New York and all you give me is cold coffee,” Ander grumbles, handing him back the mug.

Omar tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat, smiling lightly. “Was there something else you wanted?”

He doesn’t really mean for his question to be so suggestive, or maybe he does. Either way, Ander snuggles closer into his neck for just a moment before he tries to shake the sleep away and straighten up. 

It’s slightly ridiculous how Omar misses his touch almost immediately.

Ander turns his head to look at Omar as he raises his eyebrows, smiling in that wicked way Omar loves so much.

“Yes,” he murmurs in his deep voice, leaning closer to Omar, so close that their noses are almost touching. Omar is sure he might stop breathing any second now. But then Ander reaches an arm across Omar’s lap, finding the joint in his hand and snatching it. He pulls back, holding the joint in Omar’s face. “This.” And he takes a puff for emphasis, looking a little too happy with himself.

Omar chuckles as he tries to reacquaint his heart with a more human rhythm. He shakes his head lightly, returning his attention to his laptop. “It’s not very strong. Just something to tune things out and focus.” 

Ander smiles as he blows out some smoke, leaning closer so he can look at Omar’s screen. “He was always my favourite.” 

Omar’s eyebrows shoot up in question. Ander points vaguely at the computer screen and Omar smiles.

Ander is pointing at the small brown boy who fought monsters and kissed boys, a little older now, with thicker eyebrows, a few more piercings and tattoos, and a much bigger collection of floral shirts. 

Omar shrugs, keeping his attention on his screen. “I always had a thing for his curly-haired sidekick.”

Ander breathes a laugh next to him, leaning his head back and blowing out some smoke. “I mean, I can’t blame you. His sidekick _is_ very hot.”

* * *

_The first time Ander finds him drawing, Omar is sitting by the tennis court at Las Encinas._

_Ander is not there aggressively hitting a ball with a racket for once, only a couple of students Omar doesn’t know mulling around, and he doesn’t have any “clients” waiting for their weekly supply of weed._

_Instead, Omar is just chilling on one of the wooden tables, taking in the nice weather and the peace and quiet this place seems to permanently have._

_God, he wishes this was his school._

_He’s completely lost in his thoughts when someone taps him lightly on the shoulder before straddling the bench next to him, and when he looks up from his notebook, Ander’s face is only inches away from his, a grin on his face._

_Omar is so tempted to just lean forward and kiss him, but they’re in public, so he settles on a smile instead, briefly squeezing Ander’s leg under the table. “Hey.”_

_Ander shoots him a small, lopsided smile, and Omar knows he is also restraining himself from leaning forward to kiss Omar._

_Ander’s face falls only slightly. “Have you been here long?”_

_Omar shrugs as he turns his attention back to his notebook, shading part of his character’s hair. “About an hour.”_

_“An hour?”_

_Omar looks up at Ander’s sharp tone, before he shrugs again._

_“I don’t mind,” he tells him honestly. “It’s nice out here.”_

_Ander looks around, nodding lightly and sliding forward until he knee is touching Omar’s thigh under the table. “Why didn’t you text me?”_

_Omar raises an eyebrow, his attention back on his sketch. “Um. You were in class?”_

_“I would’ve ditched,” Ander tells him immediately._

_“Your mom is the principal. You can’t ditch.”_

_“But you can?”_

_“I didn’t ditch. My teacher bailed so I got to go home early,” Omar explains, biting his lower lip in concentration as he adds more details to his character. “I didn’t feel like going home, though,” he continues. “I’m sure if I did my father would’ve found some way to trap me in the shop for the afternoon, and we have plans with Samu for lunch, so I just came here instead.”_

_“Right.”_

_“Speaking of which.” Omar smacks his lips together, dropping his ink pen and turning his full attention to Ander. “Where’s Samu?”_

_“Stayed behind with Marina,” Ander replies, scratching the paint off the surface of the table. It’s an excuse to touch Omar’s forearm with the tips of his fingers, Omar knows. “Said he’ll be here in a second.” Omar groans, only moving his arm closer to Ander. “Looked like they were fighting, so I just bailed.” He continues gliding his fingers on the surface of the table until his hand reaches the edge of Omar’s open notebook, finally noticing the sketches on the paper. “Did you draw these?”_

_Omar shakes his head immediately._

_“No, I...” he trails off, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly for a moment. Ander wrinkles his forehead, staring at Omar pointedly. “I used to doodle a lot when I was a kid,” Omar tries to brush it off. “And I’ve picked it up again, more regularly these days. Helps distract me.”_

_Ander stares at him mutely, a look that Omar can’t discern on his face._

_“These are really good,” he says after a moment, pulling the notebook closer so he can better examine the drawing. His fingers ghost across the surface, tracing little details like the earring on the character, the bracelets tied around his wrist, the ripped knees of his jeans. “Is that supposed to be you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, smiling to himself as he continues to speak. “He looks like you. Well, minus the earring. And is that a tattoo?” A small V appears between his eyes as he leans forward to look at the details more closely. “Yeah, you definitely don’t have an earring or a tattoo, I would’ve remembered that, but he has your buzz cut and beard and these are definitely your eyes. And the shirt you were wearing at Samu’s party.”_

_For some inexplicable reason, Omar’s heart feels like it might burst out of his chest. Maybe because he’s never shown anyone outside of his sisters his drawings. Or maybe because Ander seems to actually like it. Or maybe because it’s Ander, and he’s sort of exhilarated by this, and if there’s one thing Omar’s getting from all of this, it’s that Ander notices things about him._

_Omar grins. “You remember what shirt I was wearing at Samu’s party?” Ander’s lips lift up on one corner, but he keeps his eyes firmly trained on the page as he scratches the back of his neck. He looks caught._ “ _That is grossly out of character for you.”_

_“Like you don’t remember what shirt I was wearing,” Ander mumbles._

_“I don’t,” Omar shoots back, and Ander frowns. He feels almost bad. “I mean, mostly because I’m too busy remembering other more important shit like your dumb face when I called you Andrés, or your dumb face when we were kissing in the bathroom, but if you want me to focus on your shirt – which, I’m willing to bet my kidney was a Lacoste – then I’ll do that from now on.”_

_Ander smiles at first, then full on laughs, and Omar considers it a small victory._

_“Nah, that’s good. Focusing on my dumb face is good. I can kiss you right now and make that face again if you want to refresh your memory.” He’s teasing him, Omar knows, but it lands a little too close to home. Because Omar wants to. There’s literally nothing he wants more than to hold Ander’s face and kiss him in front of everyone. But he can’t. “Hey, I’m kidding,” Ander says after a moment, probably noticing how Omar’s face falls. “I can hold off until we’re alone,” he reassures, but Omar still feels like he can’t breathe, trapped in this life he wants no part of. “Can you draw me?”_

_That certainly gets Omar’s attention, and his head snaps up to look at Ander, thoughts clearing immediately._ _“Like... like one of my French girls?”_

_Ander barks a loud, infectious laugh, and Omar can’t help but chuckle along. When they calm down, Ander points to the sketchbook. “Tempting as that sounds, I meant more like him.” Omar bites the inside of his cheeks thoughtfully, wondering if he should show him. Of course, Ander can read him like an open book and already knows there’s more to this look than what he’s seeing. “What?”_

_Omar sighs as he grabs the notebook, rifling through the pages until he lands on the one he’s looking for. The upper part is full of gibberish physics notes, but at the bottom of the page, two sketches. The first one is of the same character Ander was looking at before. But it’s the second one Omar wants to show Ander._

_“I sorta already drew a sidekick for my character a couple of weeks ago,” he explains, pushing the notebook closer to Ander. “It’s only after I finished the drawing that I realized he looks awfully familiar.”_

_Ander’s entire face lights up in an almost childish way as he traces the character’s curls, then his earring, the mark on his cheek, the uniform he’s wearing, the tennis ball he’s holding as a weapon is his hand and the cigarette in his other._ _It’s like he momentarily lets his guard down, dropping his carefully constructed tough-guy facade long enough for Omar to actually see how happy he is to see this._

_“Okay, I don’t really appreciate being called a sidekick, but that does look like me.” Even his voice is unrecognizable to Omar, uninhibited and uncharacteristically excited. He trails his fingers over the character again, still smiling. “And damn, he’s hot.”_

_Omar can’t keep the laugh that bubbles up his throat, shaking his head lightly._

_“My character thinks so too. I mean, he finds him hella arrogant,” he adds playfully, “but he’s got a big ass crush on him.”_

_Ander grins, leaning a little closer to Omar, his lips curling up wickedly and his eyes growing a little darker. “Oh yeah?”_

_Omar bites the inside of his cheek again to keep from smiling too wide, momentarily throwing caution to the wind and leaning a little closer too. “Yep.”_

_“Well, I think he feels the same,” Ander tells him. “He takes great offense at being called your sidekick, though” he adds, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “If anything, you’re my sidekick.”_

_“Arrogant,” Omar mumbles._

_“But I do have a big ass crush on you.”_

_And yeah, Omar’s heart is definitely going to beat out of his chest. Which in itself is terrifying because Omar has never felt that way about anyone before, nor has he ever wanted to._

_But this. This is fucking dangerous. This could ruin him._

_He shakes his head lightly to clear his thoughts. He can worry about all that later. Because he will. When he’s alone, he will worry himself silly, and find reasons not to call Ander or answer his texts or be with him. But right now, he wants to give himself a moment to be normal. A moment to flirt back with the boy he likes and enjoy his afternoon with him and his best friend._

_“I thought we were talking about the characters,” Omar finally manages._

_Ander shrugs. “Whatever, I already feel at one with him.”_

_Omar laughs again, wondering what would happen if he reached out just slightly to hold Ander’s hand. Would anyone notice? Would Ander mind? Would Omar’s father manage to find out from all the way across town?_

_He’s saved from finding out when Samuel finally shows up. “Hey. You guys ready?”_

_Ander’s eyes are searching when Omar meets them, like he’s trying to read his mind._

_Omar shakes his stupid thoughts away, grabbing his notebook and haphazardly shoving it into his backpack before they both stand up._

_“Yep. Let’s go.”_

* * *

Omar shakes his head with amusement, bumping his shoulder with Ander’s affectionately. “My editor gave me two pages in the new issue for an original comic, so he might make an appearance yet.”

Ander sits up straighter, turning a pair of wide eyes towards him. “Wait, for real? That’s huge!” Omar bites the inside of his cheek. “Okay, wait, do you regularly get your own stuff published?”

“Nope,” Omar replies. “First time, actually.”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you more excited about it?”

“Because, it’s not huge until it’s actually published. My editor can still change her mind and choose someone else’s work for the spread.” Omar is trying to keep his expectations low, is what it boils down to. It doesn’t matter how good he is or how many times his boss tells him his stuff is good, he’s always waiting for something to go wrong. Ander shoots him a pointed look, pursing his lips lightly. “Yeah, okay, fine,” Omar concedes. “I’m doing pretty well for myself.”

Ander scoffs. “I’ll say.” He bumps his shoulder roughly with Omar’s, almost toppling them over and watching as Omar’s entire face melts into a wider smile. “Speaking of which, I have to say, I’m honoured to finally be getting my first taste of the fire escape of dreams.”

Omar laughs before he saves his progress and sets his laptop aside, thankful for the change in topic. He reaches for the joint in Ander’s hand. “Is it as magnificent as you thought it would be?”

Ander presses a hand to his heart, closing his eyes and inhaling dramatically. “I feel like a small town boy whose dreams are about to come true.” Omar laughs next to him but doesn’t say anything, keeping his eyes firmly trained on his hands. Ander bumps their shoulders together, softly this time. “What?”

Omar shakes his head, a small, hesitant smile on his face. He still doesn’t know how honest he should be about everything, but Ander’s here. Like, actually, physically, crossed-the-Atlantic-to-see-him here. If Omar still can’t bring himself to be honest with him now, then they’re doomed.

“Nothing,” he mutters, fiddling with his rings. “It’s just, I don’t want to assume things... but this means you and Dani are...”

“Oh.” Ander sobers up. “Oh, completely fine,” he tells him, nodding his head several hundred times. “Yeah, he’s completely cool with me leaving for the other side of the world to see my ex.”

Omar’s heart sinks to his stomach, his throat closing up. “Okay.”

Ander snorts next to him. “You’re an actual idiot, you know that?” Omar turns a pair of furrowed, almost offended, brows towards Ander. “Omar, I am on the other side of the world, with my ex.” When Omar still looks confused, Ander rolls his eyes. “Of course he and I are over,” he spells it out for Omar. “We weren’t even really an official thing, but it still wasn’t fair to him.”

Omar draws his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from smiling too wide, realizing just how stupid he must’ve sounded. He hates it when his insecurities cloud his judgement and common sense, especially when it comes to him and Ander. 

“What wasn’t fair?”

Ander shrugs, wringing his hands together in his lap. He shakes his head when Omar offers him the joint and Omar sets it down in the ashtray next to him.

Ander hesitates for a moment, seemingly contemplating his next words. “I wanted him to be someone he isn’t.”

And Omar kind of knows where this is going, but he still wants to hear it. Because he’s dumb like that, and his stupid mind refuses to believe any of this is really happening unless it has actual, tangible proof, even though his stupid heart has been solidly racing in his chest since the moment he laid eyes on Ander at the airport. 

“Who did you want him to be?”

Ander rubs his face, wincing out a smile. “I can’t believe you’re gonna make me say it,” he mutters. “This is totally the New York effect, by the way,” Ander adds quickly, his face impossibly close. “We are not this sappy in Madrid.”

Omar laughs, feeling delirious with anticipation. “Hate to burst your bubble, but you catfished me because you couldn’t get enough of my dick after you kissed me, like, twice? And we were proper star-crossed for a while. So yes, we were _plenty_ sappy in Madrid.” Ander laughs lightly. “But that’s not really the point right now,” Omar adds. “Who did you want Dani to be?”

Ander smiles, looking down at his lap for another moment before looking back up and rolling his eyes. “Okay, fine. You. I wanted him to be you.”

Omar finally allows the hope he felt the moment he saw Ander to wash over him completely, his heart jumping to his throat and a happy laugh bubbling up his chest. “Wow, my magic fire escape really has turned you into a sap.”

Ander turns to Omar, more than ready to argue, but Omar cradles his face and immediately drowns out his words with a kiss, pressing their lips together. Ander returns the kiss without missing a beat, holding Omar with the same urgency, kissing and sucking and biting his way into Omar’s mouth, until Omar can’t see or think or feel anything other than him.

Ander pulls back just as suddenly, and under any other circumstances, Omar would be absolutely mortified at the whimper that escapes his throat in objection. But as it is, he only blinks to stare at Ander with a pair of unfocused, confused and accusing eyes.

“Does that mean I don’t have to stay at an Airbnb? Because I booked one for a couple of nights just in case this surprise really backfired so maybe—“

“For fuck’s sake.” Omar silences the rambling boy in front of him with another kiss, using one of his hands to grip Ander’s hoodie and hooking one of his legs over Ander’s to draw him in even closer. Ander comes willingly, running a hand over Omar’s thigh and gripping the waist of his pants. “Now who’s the actual idiot?” Omar manages in between kisses, smiling when Ander laughs against his lips.

He doesn’t know how long they kiss for, whether it’s minutes or hours or days, but they only resurface for air when they hear a commotion from inside the house, followed by a very familiar voice.

“Okay, what the fuck kind of parallel universe did I just walk into?”

They break apart to look around them and find Lu’s head peeking out the window, staring at them with wide eyes, her lips forming a perfect circle.

Omar’s cheeks flush as Ander hides his face in his neck, slowly untangling their bodies and chuckling at being caught that red-handed, like a bunch of horny teenagers who can’t control themselves.

Ander pulls away from Omar’s shoulder, drawing his hood over his head and rubbing his face. “Surprise!” He says after a moment, voice almost delirious as he and Omar erupt in another round of laughter.

Lu turns a pair of wide, accusing eyes Omar’s way. “Did you know he was coming? Are you two back together?” She gasps suddenly, holding a hand to her heart. “Omar, have you been hiding Ander from me this entire time because you know I _will_ kill him if he ever fucks with you again?”

Ander bites the inside of his cheek as he raises his eyebrows at Omar.

Omar shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from Ander’s. “I didn’t know.”

Ander scoots forward a little, eyeing Lu with a smile on his face. “It’s good to see you, Lu. I’m surprised to say this, but I’ve actually missed you this time.”

A smile finally breaks through on Lu’s face as she pushes herself over the ledge of the window and onto the fire escape, immediately crawling into Ander’s waiting arms and squeezing him tight.

She pulls away after moment, ruffling his hair. “Bitch, how do you still look that good after a 9-hour flight?” Ander laughs but doesn’t have time to say anything before Lu gasps again, eyes widening as she presses a palm to her mouth. “Wait, so you surprised him at the airport?” Omar nods, unable to contain his smile. “Okay, what the fuck? Ander Muñoz pulls the most romantic move in our collective miserable love lives and I’m not here to witness it? Did Nadia know? I’m gonna kill Guzmán. I didn’t know you had it in you, Muñoz.” She turns her attention back to Omar. “Did you bawl? I would’ve bawled. Did you bawl? Tell me _everything_!”

Ander laughs as he leans back, reaching for the joint and propping his shoulder against Omar’s. Lu snatches the joint from his fingers, holding her hand out for the lighter. Omar obliges, watching with amusement as Ander’s brows furrow lightly.

Omar shrugs. “New York Lu gets high on the fire escape sometimes.”

Ander relaxes against Omar as a smile creeps onto his face. 

Omar thinks his heart might burst.


	14. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omar keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Ander is already passed out in Omar’s bed by the time Omar emails his final draft to his editor. He still blinks his eyes open when Omar crawls into the mattress with him, pulling Omar over to him and kissing him until Omar is breathless and panting and aching with need. 

Much like everything seems to be with Ander these days, it all feels new and familiar at the same time. Ander knows exactly where to push and where to suck and where to rub and where to lick, how fast to go and how hard to kiss, when to make the rules and when to play by them. 

But the warmth that pools in the pit of Omar’s stomach and the thirst and want and need that builds within him are entirely new. Or not new, maybe, but a thousand times more intense than he remembers. And suddenly, Omar can’t believe he ever thought anything other than Ander and the way he makes him feel and the way he loves him would ever be enough for him.

After, Ander cleans them up and kisses Omar’s face and nose and lips and neck and cheek and settles down on the pillow next to him, lips puckered and already half-asleep. He drapes an arm over Omar’s stomach automatically, like it’s the most natural thing to him, and Omar allows himself to be held, enjoying the warmth that washes over him and succumbing to sleep too.

* * *

Despite everything, Omar still wakes up way too early for it to be human, his head pillowed on Ander’s chest and his arm snug around his waist.

He blinks his eyes open immediately when he realizes he’s essentially sleeping _on_ Ander, loosening his grip on the boy’s waist and pulling his head back to properly look at him.

Ander is already awake, his phone in his hand and a small, amused smile colouring his face as he watches Omar.

“Sorry,” Omar mumbles, pulling away almost self-consciously and putting some distance between the two of them. Ander drops his phone onto the nearby coffee table, shaking his head lightly and turning on his side to face Omar. He reaches his arms and loops it around Omar’s waist, drawing him closer to him. Omar smiles. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Ander shrugs lightly, his fingers drawing random patterns on Omar’s back. “Because unlike me, you’re not jetlagged. You don’t need to be up at the crack of dawn just because I am.”

Omar’s face melts in a sleepy smile, his heart jumping to his throat. He allows his fingers to wander to Ander’s face, ghosting his cheeks, lips, neck, and anywhere else he can reach. Ander closes his eyes, softening under Omar’s touch.

“I missed you,” Omar admits.

“I know,” Ander tells him, a small smile playing on his lips. “I missed you, too.”

Omar shakes his head, sighing. “No. Like, I really, _really_ missed you.”

He runs his hand down Ander’s side to grip his waist, pulling himself close until he’s pressed right against him, wrapping his arms tightly around him and burying his face in his chest. It’s been so long since he’s felt the need to be so physically close to someone, but he can’t think of another way to convey to Ander all the things he’s feeling right now. Ander rests his head on top of Omar’s, returning the embrace and looping his arms around Omar’s neck. He runs his fingers through Omar’s short hair lightly, pressing a small kiss to his shoulder. 

“Me too,” Ander insists, mouthing the words against Omar’s skin and sending shivers ricocheting through his body. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but it’s enough that Omar is nearly lulled back to sleep. That is, until Ander’s phone vibrates obnoxiously loud next to them.

Omar pulls back slightly, peeking up at Ander. “Do you need to get that?”

Ander shakes his head, lips spreading into a small smirk. “Nah, it’s just Guzmán. He’s awake and wants to come out, but he thinks we’re doing it.”

Omar snorts. “Like that’s ever stopped him before.”

* * *

_In hindsight, they should’ve locked the door. In hindsight, Omar maybe shouldn’t have given into Ander’s kisses when they both knew that Guzmán would be showing up at any minute._

_It’s just that, well, Ander barely ever feels like it anymore. So when Omar is roused from his nap by Ander kissing his neck and shoving a hand into his sweatpants, Omar isn’t about to say no, especially when it takes all of 12 seconds for Ander to get him hard._

_The bright side is that Ander is almost entirely on top of him, and still fully clothed because somehow Omar is always the one who ends up naked first._

_The bright side is that Guzmán’s face when he walks into the room is absolutely priceless._

_The bright side is that the horrified, broken, almost devastated “No!” Guzmán lets out before he shuts the door is the most hilarious sound either of them have ever heard._

_The bright side is that Ander doesn’t give a fuck that his best friend is outside their door, he still makes sure to make Omar come - and come Omar does, with the full force of it - before he finally releases his boyfriend and moves to lie down next to him._

_The bright side is that Ander kisses him after, tells him he loves him, apologizes again for being a dick at the clinic the day before._

_The bright side is it’s a brief respite of normalcy for both of them._

_That night Omar will shave Ander’s hair. Three days later, Ander will tell Omar to see other people, and Omar, confused and stupid and betrayed, will do as he’s told. Two weeks after that, the doctor will tell them Ander needs more chemo, more therapy, more treatment, that the cancer is still eating up at him. In four weeks, Ander will break Omar’s heart and Omar will move out, and in five weeks, Polo will die. In eight weeks, Omar will leave Madrid for good._

_But right now, they can breathe, so they lie shoulder to shoulder on the bed, laughing together and ignoring Guzmán’s dramatic wailing outside the bedroom door._

* * *

“I’m just curious to see how long he manages to make it before he cracks and comes out this time. I’d give him another ten minutes at most.”

Omar chuckles lightly, unable to stop himself from pressing a small kiss to Ander’s jaw. Not that he would want to stop himself, anyway. Even though it’s been less than 24 hours since Ander’s come back into his life, he’s enjoying this new phase they’re at right now. The one where he doesn’t feel like he has to hide himself from Ander. That he can be whatever he wants to be around him and act on his urges and his impulses without second-guessing them.

“Put him out of his misery,” Omar mumbles, loosening his grip on Ander’s waist. “I’m up anyway.”

Ander’s hands loosen around Omar too, trailing from his face and down to his hip. He untucks his shirt from under his pants and presses his fingers against the warm skin of Omar’s waist. 

Omar can’t understand how such a simple touch can make him feel so many things, but then again there are a lot of things that he can’t understand when it comes to Ander and the way he feels about him.

“Are you sure?” Ander murmurs. “I mean, I would suggest doing it just so we don’t disappoint Guzmán, but I’m honestly still exhausted from before.”

Omar laughs again, fingering the collar of Ander’s soft cotton shirt. “Definitely don’t have the energy to try and keep quiet right now,” he agrees, tracing the light bruises on Ander’s neck. “Besides, I think I’ve left permanent damage here.”

Ander shrugs. “Worth it.”

Omar flushes as another laugh bubbles up his throat. “Maybe later we can have a repeat of that in the shower.”

Ander hums, fingers squeezing Omar’s waist and tugging him closer. “From what I’ve seen, your shower isn’t very big.”

Omar shakes his head, lips pulling up with mischief as he leans forward slightly. “Nope. In fact, it’s really, really tight.”

Ander’s lips curl upwards, tugging Omar even closer and pressing their lips together. “Keep it up and we’ll have to find out how tight it really is right now.”

Omar smiles against his lips as he grips Ander’s shirt to pull him closer, but before he can do anything further, they’re interrupted. 

“Nope, no, please. Hit pause on the dirty talk,” Guzmán’s exaggerated whisper echoes through the living room. “I don’t want to even imagine what the fuck it is that’s so tight, but I can’t stay in that bedroom anymore. Just ignore me, I’m just passing through on my way to the kitchen.”

“Told you,” Ander brags, wagging his eyebrows as Omar hides his face in his chest, chuckling in amusement and frustration. “The kitchen is literally right there, Guzmán,” he mumbles a little louder. “If I crane my neck hard enough, I can see you.”

“So don’t crane your neck,” Guzmán fires back. Ander sighs and Omar chuckles again. “Alright fine,” Guzmán gives up, grabbing the boxes of leftover pizza from the stove. “I’ll go out on the fire escape even though it’s fucking cold.”

Omar pulls away, sitting up as Guzmán grabs the thickest jacket on the nearby coat rack and disappears outside the window. 

“Come on, we can’t let him freeze alone out there,” Omar says. Ander whines in protest, wrapping his arms around Omar’s waist and burying his face in his hip. Omar leans over to press a kiss to his hair, Ander’s curls tickling his cheek. “I know, I want to stay here too but he’s your idiot best friend. Also I want that pizza.”

Ander leans back only slightly but keeps his arms loosely around Omar, peering up with a curious look. “Pizza?”

“And I can roll you one, if you want,” Omar tempts him, scooting further away. 

Ander finally lets him go, rolling over to get up and stretching his arms lightly. He pulls a thicker shirt over his striped one, followed by Omar’s hoodie. 

Omar smiles as he watches him, pulling his own hoodie over his head. He rounds the bed to find his bag, pulling out his stash and getting ready to go outside, but Ander tugs on his arm. He turns to find Ander standing close, smiling. He grabs onto Omar’s collar, twisting the drawstrings around his fingers and pulling him over. Omar comes willingly, smiling against his lips when he kisses him, but otherwise says nothing.

Ander lets him go after a moment, shoving him lightly to get him walking, and Omar finally pulls his hood on, turning the coffee machine on before climbing outside. 

Guzmán is on Lu’s tanning chair, his feet propped against the railing as a slice of pizza hangs from his mouth. “Ugh, nooo.” Despite the insane amount of pizza in his mouth, he looks genuinely apologetic. “Go back to bed. I really didn’t want to cockblock you guys, but I’ve been up for two hours, and your sister stayed up really late studying so I didn’t have the heart to wake her up.”

“It’s fine,” Omar waves him off, crawling across the small fire escape and settling on the pillow in the corner. “When your bedroom is also the living room, kitchen and the only way outside the apartment, you get used to having zero privacy.”

Guzmán takes another bite of pizza, peering down at Omar curiously. “Seriously, though, how do you ever get laid around here?”

Ander groans as he sidles up next to Omar, pulling his knees up and staring at Guzmán with a light frown.

Omar bites the inside of his cheek, a little amused as he takes out his stash from the pocket of his hoodie. “Mostly by never bringing anyone home.”

Guzmán grimaces. “That can’t be fun.”

Omar shrugs, a little distracted to notice Ander groan again and lean forward to grumpily snatch one of the pizza boxes from Guzmán’s lap. 

“I mean, it felt like a small price to pay when we got the apartment,” Omar explains. “The girls relocated well out of their way for me, so hooking up with dudes at their place or somewhere else was fine. Besides, there were very few guys I wanted to bring home anyway.”

“Somewhere else as in in public?”

Ander glares at Guzmán, sighing loudly. Omar turns to look at him curiously, but Ander only smiles lightly, taking a bite from the slice of pizza in his hand. He offers the slice to Omar who takes a bite too before turning his attention back to his lap. 

“Sometimes,” Omar shrugs. “I mean, it’s been a while, but you know, backroom at work, a friend’s empty apartment, back alley at work, pub bathroom – not particularly proud of that one – or, you know, whatever semi-private space we can find in public, yeah.”

Guzmán raises his eyebrows, looking almost impressed. “That’s hardcore.”

Ander scoffs, frowning. “What the fuck are you talking about, Guzmán? Before Nadia, you christened every fucking surface at Las Encinas and pretty much every public space in Madrid.”

Omar throws Ander a surprised glance, but Ander keeps his eyes firmly on Guzmán.

“That’s because I was a dick, not because I had to,” Guzmán defends lamely. “Also, why are you attacking me all of a sudden? I’m not insulting him, I’m genuinely curious.”

“Because you’re supposed to be my wingman, you dumbass,” Ander snaps. “And so far today all you’ve managed to do is to successfully cockblock me and now you won’t fucking shut up about Omar sleeping with other people.” He pauses and lets out a small, delirious laugh. “Could you, like, talk about _literally_ anything else?”

Guzmán’s eye widen comically as he almost chokes on the abnormally large bite he’s chewing, while Omar looks down at his lap and smiles to himself. 

It’s stupid, really, but Ander is jealous and Omar’s heart skips several beats at the idea.

He can’t help but lean into Ander’s side a bit more, propping his shoulder against his arm. His heart jumps to his throat when he feels Ander relax at the contact. 

“Oh, right. No, no no, Ander, we don’t have to talk about that,” Guzmán rambles like an idiot, trying to overcompensate now. “Omar should only be thinking about sex with you, of course,” he adds quickly and Omar snorts as he looks up at Guzmán and raises his eyebrows. “Of course I’m your wingman. Of course! Although from what I walked onto earlier, it doesn’t seem like you need one.”

Omar grins.

“Oh, he definitely doesn’t,” he reassures, pausing to lick the edge of the rolling paper in his hand. “I went from no sex in the apartment for almost two whole years to twice in one night.”

Guzmán chokes again, holding a hand up in the air. “Okay, no. TMI, dude. TMI.”

Ander scoffs. “You were fine hearing about his sex life, like a minute ago.”

“Not with you!” Guzmán objects immediately, sounding all too dramatic. “I don’t need to know about you two. I’m fine with knowing about him and other people.”

Omar snorts again while Ander blinks several times, eyeing his best friend with disbelief.

“Seriously, Guzmán,” he grumbles. “You’re the worst wingman ever.”

“Why the fuck—“

“You’re essentially telling the guy I’m into to go fuck other people!” 

_The guy I’m into._

It’s slightly ridiculous that this small piece of information makes Omar this deliriously happy. Like, at this point, Ander has crossed the ocean to see him, is staying with him for the next month or so, has kissed him and fucked him and made it clear that his whole purpose of coming here was for him, so that Ander is actually quite into Omar is an understatement at this point. And yet, Omar still needs to hear it verbalized to actually believe it. 

“No, I’m not!” Guzmán objects, leaning forward and stomping his foot like an angry giant.

Omar sighs as he hands Ander the joint to light it up before grabbing a slice of pizza. 

“Okay, first of all, it’s fucking 5:30 in the morning so y’all better lower your damn voices because if my grumpy ass neighbour wakes up, she _will_ dump her cat’s litter on me and I do not feel like being showered in cat shit this early in the morning,” Omar threatens, enjoying the way Guzmán and Ander’s faces both transform in matching disgusted expressions. “Second of all, Ander, Guzmán is not exactly telling me to go do other people.” Guzmán smiles triumphantly. “He’s telling me to do other people and then tell him about it.”

Guzmán gasps, gawking at Omar as if he just stabbed him in the leg, while Ander snorts a laugh around the joint, peering at him with amusement.

“Don’t listen to Guzmán, please,” Ander mutters, eyes on Omar even as Guzmán gasps again. He leans to the side to press a small kiss to Omar’s jaw before trading him the joint for the rest of the slice in his hand. Omar smiles, his heart fluttering at the small touch, before he tears his gaze away to look at Guzmán, taking a puff from the joint. “Seriously, Guzmán, what happened to you? I remember you used to be so smooth when we were in school.”

Omar leans forward, blowing out smoke and passing the joint to Guzmán. “Was he, though?” Ander turns to look at Omar curiously. “I mean, I didn’t know him that well when you guys were still in school, but if I remember correctly, the first time you tried to get us to hang out, he tried to give us his blessing.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Guzmán mutters, closing his eyes. 

Ander barks a loud laugh before he presses his palm to his mouth to keep his voice down. “Oh my god, I completely blocked that out.”

“There was also that time he came to my parents’ place and went down on his knees to beg my father’s forgiveness, all because Nadia fed him some antiquated bullshit about traditions to get him off her back, and he actually went and believed her,” Omar adds, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Ander full on chokes on his slice of pizza now, laughing as he tries to draw a breath and swallow the food in his mouth. Omar pats his back as he chuckles along, enjoying this whole thing far too much, especially with the way Guzmán’s ears and nose keep getting redder by the second.

“I’m sorry,” _cough_ , _cough_ , “you did—“ _cough_ , _cough_ , _cough_. Ander stops talking for a moment, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down. When he does, his face is flushed awkwardly and stained with tears, but his lips are pulled up in an incredulous smile. “You did what now?”

“ _Joder_ , Omar! You didn’t need to fucking bring that up,” Guzmán wails, taking a big puff and passing the joint back to Ander. “And I didn’t end up actually doing it.”

“Only because Nadia took pity on you and stopped you from making a complete ass out of yourself,” Omar shoots back, grinning with much amusement. “And I have to disagree, I don’t think we bring that up nearly enough.”

Ander still looks far too entertained for Guzmán’s liking. “Okay, seriously, how have I not heard that story?” 

“Because I purposefully never told you,” Guzmán replies. “And I’m not about to now, and neither is Omar, unless you would like to hear all the questions I have for Omar in regards to his public sexcapades,” he adds, his features twisting in a humourless smile.

“Fair enough,” Ander concedes, but he’s still unable to curb his wide smile.

“I won’t,” Omar reassures immediately, taking pity on them both. “All I’m saying is he was never smooth, as far as I’m concerned. He just had you very, very, very fooled.”

Guzmán grumbles, sighing loudly. “Why the fuck did I decide to come out here? I should’ve stayed in the bedroom.” He turns to stare at the two boys on the ground, waving a hand between the two of them. “If this is what I have to look forward to by being your wingman, then you can fuck off. And you!” He throws an accusatory glance Omar’s way, looking entirely too betrayed. “You were a lot less annoying the last time I was here.”

Omar shrugs. “I didn’t know or like you well enough to be annoying, the last time. You should take it as a compliment.”

“It’s true,” Ander pipes in, crossing his arms over his knees and looking at Omar, “he’s only an asshole to people he actually likes.” 

“You two deserve each other,” Guzmán mutters, the small smile on his face betraying him. He relaxes into his chair, finally calming down and blowing out some smoke.

Ander smiles as he pulls his hood over his head, tugging the drawstrings of his sweatshirt to tighten it before pulling his sleeves past his hands.

Omar reaches a hand to rub his back, smiling when Ander instinctively leans closer. Still, Ander shivers lightly under his palm. Omar’s brows to push together.

“It’s really cold,” he says as he makes to get up. “There’s a couple of extra blankets on my bed, let me get them.”

Ander shakes his head immediately, reaching out a hand to grip Omar’s thigh and keep him from moving.

“I’ll get them,” he tells him. “I gotta pee anyway and need some water.”

Omar nods lightly, smiling as he watches Ander disappear inside the house. When his eyes finally flicker back to Guzmán, he finds his gaze trained on the window as well, a small smile playing on his lips.

Guzmán turns to Omar, a faraway look in his eyes. “I haven’t seen him like this since we were kids.”

Omar raises his eyebrows. “Freezing?”

Guzmán huffs in amusement, rolling his eyes at Omar. Omar bares his teeth in a sheepish smile.

“No,” Guzmán says unnecessarily. “He’s… I don’t know, comfortable. Affectionate, kinda. More than usual. Also, openly jealous, which isn’t something I’ve seen before.” He wags his eyebrows exaggeratedly at Omar, looking especially amused at the last one. “Not calculating his every word,” he continues. “Not bottling himself up, even if it means being vulnerable.”

Omar knows exactly what Guzmán means.

It’s the Ander who chased Omar around and wanted to show him off to his friends, who rode his bike across town every single day to spend ten minutes with a boy he loved, who went to a Valentine’s party just to apologize to Omar and be there for him.

* * *

_“You deserve to be loved. Forgive me?”_

_Omar watches Ander swallow thickly as he looks at him with unmistakably apologetic eyes._

_Of course he forgives him. The truth is, Omar forgave him the minute he saw him here, dressed up in a mesh crop top that he probably hates, rubbing his hands nervously together and trying to find the words he wants to say._

_It’s just that the guilt is gnawing at Omar’s chest, clinging to his skin and tainting the air around them._

_He didn’t initiate the kiss, he reminds himself. Malick basically jumped him in the bathroom. But if he’s being honest with himself, Omar didn’t exactly push him away._

_And it’s not because Omar liked the kiss or is at all into Malick. It’s because it felt good to be wanted. It felt good to feel like someone wanted him that bad, that someone couldn’t keep their hands off him and needed to touch him and kiss him and just be with him._

_Just the way Ander seems to be now, hands gripping Omar’s suspenders, fingers soft against his bare chest. Why couldn’t Ander have come a little earlier? If Ander had just come with him, Omar wouldn’t have hid in the bathroom to wallow in misery, and Malick wouldn’t have found him and kissed him, and Omar wouldn’t be feeling like the shittiest human being to ever exist right now._

_He is the shittiest human being to ever exist, though. His boyfriend is sick and dying and he still showed up for him and Omar is making him feel bad about it and kinda internally blaming him for fucking up and kissing another guy._

_He’s the worst kind of shit there is._

_Ander leans forward to kiss him, but Omar can’t bring himself to return it yet, too disgusted with himself._

_He doesn’t need Ander finding out about any of this, though; the boy already has more than enough on his plate. So when Ander pulls away and peers down at him, Omar manages a small smile, trying to make light of the situation._

_“No.”_

_Ander smiles, looking more like himself than he has in weeks, gently cupping Omar’s face and leaning into him._

_Usually, when they kiss in public, it’s either chaste and quick or hungry and passionate and almost excessively horny. There’s no middle ground. It’s either about sharing a tiny moment of affection as they go about their day or simply being unable keep their hands off each other or their mouths apart._

_It’s never like this. Ander is never this affectionate, this needy, this gentle or tender or soft with Omar. At least not outside the confines of his bedroom. He never takes the time to hold Omar the way he’s holding him right now, or kiss him the way he’s kissing him, like he’s trying to show him everything he seems so unable to say._

_Maybe it’s the way Ander touches him, or the overwhelming love on his face, or the way Omar feels almost whole under his fingers. Like his touch alone has picked up all the broken pieces chipping away from Omar’s heart and glued them momentarily back together. Maybe it’s just because Omar loves him. Whatever it is, when they kiss this time, Omar feels it in every inch of his body._

_And when they finally pull apart, Ander still doesn’t let go, his hands gentle against Omar’s neck, their foreheads pressed together, not ready to quite let go yet._

_And Omar is a miserable and greedy bastard, really, because he takes it all, and takes and takes and takes, and allows Ander’s love to wash over him, momentarily forgetting his pain and misery and infidelity and Ander’s disease and anger._

_For a few blissful seconds, it’s just him and Ander, alone in an empty classroom, wishing the world wasn’t so cruelly trying to keep them apart, secretly vowing to fight it all together._

_Back then, tennis and weed and bigoted parents felt like almost insurmountable hurdles. And now they’re dealing with life-threatening illnesses and friends who are murderers. Oh, and bigoted parents; that one hasn’t been resolved yet._

_But they’re still together, and it’s still Omar and Ander against the world._

_So the world can throw whatever at them._

_Omar finally smiles a real smile at the thought, blinking his eyes open slowly and watching Ander look at him with the same serene expression._

_It’s getting a little stuffy inside, Omar decides, so he pulls away entirely and locks their fingers together, walking past Ander and leading him to the dancefloor outside._

_There’s so much up against them. But for now, walking outside with their hands together, Ander pressed closely against Omar’s back, it feels like it doesn’t really matter._

_Omar will fuck up and act like a dick and Ander will bottle shit up and wallow in misery, but none of it matters because Omar knows._

_It doesn’t fucking matter what else life throws their way. As long as Ander is by his side and willing to fight for this, Omar will fight for them too._

* * *

Still, Omar wonders if maybe they’re both reading too much into this. “You got all that from the past 10 minutes?”

“It’s not just now,” Guzmán tells him. “He’s been more open, since you visited Madrid. Less burdened.”

Omar smiles. “This is how he was when I first met him. It’s the Ander I fell for.” Guzmán smiles fondly. “We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.” He pauses, swallowing thickly as less comforting memories trickle through. “But whenever we went out or were around other people, he would just...” he trails off, shaking his head lightly and trying to find the right words. “I don’t know, it’s like there were two Anders. He, just, put up a wall, I guess. And then everything started going down, and the wall started getting higher and…” He trails off, voice breaking. “But, you know. It was still worth it for the days when he let me be there for him or showed me that he still cared.”

Guzmán’s face melts into a sympathetic look. 

“His dad always put pressure on him, but I don’t think having me as a friend helped either,” he admits, voice full of remorse. “I had a very specific vision of the world and I think it made Ander feel like he had to fit into my box to be my friend. We didn’t talk about anything that really mattered, and I think that made him hide the important parts from me. And then one day I woke up and realized I didn’t really know my best friend.” Guzmán’s face flashes with pain. “Neither of them, really,” he murmurs, pulling on a thread in his pants before he clears his throat and catches Omar’s eyes. “It started to change after he met you, but I feel like I’m only now starting to really know him, and I like him so much more that way.”

Omar feels a warmth spread through him. He’s happy Ander has someone like Guzmán looking after him. 

His mind drifts to Samuel for a fleeting moment. Samuel confronting him about dealing, asking him for advice about Marina, teasing him about Ander when he found out. Taking him in when he left Ander’s place, no questions asked.

“Yeah, he’s quite the fucking catch,” Omar murmurs, trying not to let the bitterness of the last memory get to him.

Guzmán nods lightly before he pauses and looks at Omar thoughtfully. “You know, as his best friend, I have to do this. If you ever hurt him...”

_Again_ , Omar thinks, a sour taste in his mouth. _If I hurt him again_. 

Still, he waves Guzmán off, keeping his thoughts to himself. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve been on the receiving end of that too many times.”

“On the receiving end of what?” Ander’s voice filters through as he climbs out the window.

He throws a blanket Guzman’s way and keeps the other one tucked under his arm. He sidles up next to Omar, sitting squarely on the ground and unfurling the blanket. He throws one end into Omar’s lap and hides himself up to his neck under the other side.

“My temper,” Guzmán says begrudgingly as he covers himself too. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

Ander exhales loudly, clearly unamused as he eyes his best friend. “What did you say to him this time, Guzmán? I was barely gone for five minutes.”

“No, no,” Omar jumps in quickly, squeezing Ander’s thigh under the blanket to reassure him. “He didn’t say anything, we were just talking about old stuff.” He turns his attention back to Guzmán but keeps his hand on Ander’s thigh. “And no, don’t start with that. We already went through it the last time you were here. We’re good, it’s all in the past, you’re nice enough that I’m gonna be a dick to you from now on.”

That last one earns a laugh out of Guzmán. Ander seems somewhat appeased too, settling back against the railing.

They hear some banging coming from the kitchen after a few minutes, and when they turn to the window, they find Lu’s head peeking through.

“Of course you’re here getting stoned and eating cold leftover pizza at 6 in the morning. Of course you’re doing that.”

Ander rolls his eyes as Omar grins.

“Good morning to you too, Lucrecia,” Omar teases with the hint of a smile, always amused by Lu and her flair for drama.

Guzmán’s forehead creases as he continues to stare at her. “What the fuck are you doing up at this hour, Lu?”

Omar shrugs. “It’s her standard wakeup time.”

“I’ve got an exam at 10, which gives me just enough time to enjoy my coffee, fix my face and grab breakfast with Nadia.”

She’s way too cheerful for this early in the morning, but Omar’s used to it. “Nadia will be up any minute now.”

“Yes, she will,” Lu confirms. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have my coffee inside.”

Omar frowns. “Since when do you have your coffee inside?”

Lu raises her eyebrows, taking a sip from her mug. “Since your manspreading is occupying all the space on the fire escape.”

She’s barely finished her sentence when three things happen at once: Omar scoots over to the absolute corner of the fire escape, reaching for Ander to sit closer to him. Ander is already moving, shoving the now empty pizza boxes under Guzmán’s chair before pressing himself next to Omar. Guzmán, for his part, hops off the chair immediately and drops the blanket on it, vacating the seat and waving his hand vaguely in its direction. 

“No, come on,” Ander urges as he watches Guzmán eyeing the small empty cushion next to him. The space is still too small for someone Guzmán’s size, so Ander tsks before he wraps an arm around Omar’s back and shoves him gently. “Scoot forward,” he instructs, barely waiting for Omar to move over before he manoeuvres himself behind him, propping his knees up on either side of Omar and then pulling him back to lean against his chest. Omar is slightly surprised by the casual intimacy, especially with Lu there, but he’s absolutely not mad at it. Still, he can’t help but crane his neck to look at Ander, needing to make sure he’s not that far out of his comfort zone. Ander smirks lightly when he meets Omar’s eyes, adjusting the blanket around them and sharing part of it with Guzmán. “It’s warmer this way anyway,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal, pulling his hood up again and pressing his forehead to Omar’s shoulder for a moment.

Lu hands Guzmán her coffee and climbs onto the fire escape. She settles into the chair, tucking herself under the blanket before she reaches for her mug of coffee again. "Ander, when did you actually grow a heart?”

Ander looks up at Lu, snorting with amusement as Omar bites the inside of his cheek, sinking into warmth of the cocoon he’s suddenly found himself in. “Around the same time you grew a soul.” 

Lu flips him off with a saccharine smile that turns more genuine when Ander actually laughs. 

As if on cue, Nadia’s head peeps out the window, her tired eyes and hastily made hijab a lot more in line with the current ungodly hour they’re all awake at. 

Lu’s eyes light up. “Good morning, sunshine!” 

Nadia doesn’t say anything back, only nodding her head grumpily and wincing. 

“Coffee machine’s on,” Omar tells her, a small smile playing on his lips. 

She nods, rubbing her eyes before she disappears back inside.

Lu eyes them all with amusement before taking a sip from her coffee. “Ander, I feel like you’ve never seen Nadia first thing in the morning,” she says after a moment. 

Omar turns to look at him and finds him staring after Nadia with a creased forehead.

Guzmán shrugs, a fond smile on his face. “She’s like an angry smurf in the morning. You get used to it.”

Ander shakes his head. “It’s not that. I’ve just never been more convinced that she’s Omar’s sister because she’s literally the female version of Omar in the morning,” he explains, looking Omar. “Or how you used to be,” he mumbles after a moment.

“Can confirm that he still is,” Lu reassures him. “It’s a real treat, this family trait they share, especially when I have to deal with both of them waking up at the same time.”

Omar feels Ander’s laugh reverberate against his back. He laughs too.

* * *

Ander barely leaves Omar’s side, even when that means sitting with him while he works for hours without complaints. They go out together, make out on streets corners as they wait for street signs to turn green, wake each other up with kisses. 

The more time they spend together, the more Omar sees the Ander he first met, before he was burdened by secrets and life-threatening illnesses.

What they don’t do is talk about what they are or what this all means.

Omar keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.


	15. XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, yes, this make sense.” He unwraps his scarf and fans himself with it, his face flushing to an almost purple colour. “It makes sense,” he repeats, nodding his head. “I mean, frankly, I didn’t peg you down for the type to disappear when you’re hooking up with someone, but sure.”

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Omar groans as he tears himself away from Ander’s lips to stare at his front door with a very unimpressed frown.

“Just ignore it,” he mumbles, turning his attention back to Ander and leaving a trail of kisses from his lips and down to his neck.

_Bang! Bang bang bang bang! Bang bang!_

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ander mutters, pressing his forehead to Omar’s shoulder in annoyance. 

Omar groans again as he untangles himself from Ander’s grip, pulling his boxers and hoodie on. “Who is it?”

“Open up, dickhead!”

Omar rolls his eyes as he recognizes Tristan’s voice, unclasping the lock chain and pulling the door open. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Tristan stands there staring at Omar with wide, almost disbelieving eyes, looking comically overwhelmed in about 300 layers of clothes. 

He shakes his head, shoving past Omar and making his way inside the house as he pulls his beanie off. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Omar closes the door behind him, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder to where Ander is sitting on his bed. “Here, I’ve—“

“You haven’t been replying to my texts or DMs or even that group chat from hell,” Tristan interrupts, pulling his phone out from his back pocket and waving it in front of Omar’s face. “And that would be fine but Fae hasn’t heard from you and neither has Chris and I know you’re hella busy being a comic book artist but you don’t usually vanish into thin air like this? And also you still haven’t told me what happened in Spain with your hot ex.” Omar gulps, feeling a flush creep up his neck as he throws another glance at Ander. “But we can get to that later,” Tristan continues rambling. “Right now, I wanna know why you’ve been radio silent for a full ten days and— oh.” he stops talking abruptly, turning his head slightly to the pull-out couch and finally taking note of the half-naked man staring at them with a pool of blankets around him. Tristan’s eyes widen. “Shit! I’m sorry! Hi.”

Ander looks somewhere between amused and uncomfortable, but he still manages a small, lopsided smile. “Hi.”

Tristan turns back to Omar. “Okay, yes, this make sense.” He unwraps his scarf and fans himself with it, his face flushing to an almost purple colour. “It makes sense,” he repeats, nodding his head. “I mean, frankly, I didn’t peg you down for the type to disappear when you’re hooking up with someone, but sure.” He frowns again. “Is this how you were when we were hooking up? Did you secretly just cut off your entire circle?” Omar feels himself pale at the question, but he can’t say anything because Tristan is still going a mile a minute, suddenly turning his attention back to Ander and taking a step forward. “I’m sorry— have we met? You look really fucking familiar.”

Ander’s brow furrows lightly as he meets Omar’s eyes for a moment, before he shakes his head.

Omar clears his throat, finally pulling himself together long enough to speak. “Tristan.” He looks pointedly at Tristan, nodding his head vaguely towards the bed. “This is Ander. Ander, my friend Tristan.”

Tristan’s frown deepens, eyes trained on the boy in Omar’s bed. “Ander?” He sounds very confused. “See, even your name sounds familiar. I don’t know— Oh.” He gasps suddenly, covering his mouth with both his hands, his eyes growing impossibly wide as it finally hits him. “Oh.” He turns to Omar. “ _Oh_.” His gaze darts back and forth between Omar and Ander. “Ander. _Madrid_ _Ander. The hot ex_. Or, erm, not ex?”

Omar seriously wants to punch Tristan right now. 

“The hot, no, um...” Omar trails off, not really knowing what to call Ander anymore. He’s definitely not just his ex at this point, but are they together now?

“Hi,” Tristan says, saving Omar from having to figure it all out right now. His eyes are fully on Ander now, a smile playing on his lips. “Sorry about this,” he waves his hand vaguely in the air. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Oh, and we don’t hook up anymore. Me and Omar. That’s, like, way in the past.”

Ander laughs lightly as he wraps one of the blankets tightly around his waist, getting off the bed. Despite the easy smile on his face, there’s something strained about the way he’s holding himself. Something that sets a bunch of alarms off in Omar’s head.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ander says eventually. “Sorry, I need to...” He trails off, pointing in the general direction of the corridor as he picks some of his clothes off the floor.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Tristan reassures, waving a hand and urging him to go. Ander nods again with a small smile before walking away. The sound of the bathroom door being shut echoes around the empty apartment a few seconds later, and Tristan immediately turns his attention back to Omar. “Bitch! Is this why you wouldn’t talk about Spain?” He sounds absolutely scandalized. “Because you and your hot ex are actually back together?”

Omar shakes his head. “We didn’t get back together,” he whisper-shouts, hoping his voice doesn’t carry to the bathroom. “I fucked up in Spain, or I thought I did. He surprised me by coming here last week.”

Tristan’s eyes grow cartoonishly big. “Wait, for real?” He giggles excitedly, loud enough that Ander definitely, definitely hears if. “Bitch he’s been here for a full week and you haven’t told any of us???”

“Keep your fucking voice down!”

Tristan winces apologetically. “Okay. Okay. But, like, this is fucking huge!”

“Yeah, but we haven’t really talked about what it means yet,” Omar says, deflating a little.

Tristan raises his eyebrows pointedly, looking entirely unimpressed. “For fuck’s sake, Omar. What’s there to talk about? He’s not in New York for the culture.”

Omar sighs. “I know.” He really does, but he also doesn’t want to get his hopes up in case this is not what Omar thinks it is. He shakes his head. “Okay, not to be a dick, but we can talk about all this another time because this is actually the first day that we have the house to ourselves, so could you, like—“

“Fuck off, yes,” Tristan pipes in immediately, nodding frantically and already wrapping his scarf back around his neck. “I didn’t mean to cockblock you.” He starts walking towards the door before he stops abruptly, causing Omar to almost crash into him. He turns to look at Omar. “I’m gonna need details, later,” he demands. “Like, a full play-by-play.” Omar rolls his eyes, sighing loudly and nodding. “Also, am I gonna get to meet him, like, properly? Maybe when he’s not naked and about to bone you? Or maybe naked because oof. Like, I’ve seen pictures, but damn.”

“I’ll take him to the pub soon,” Omar promise, laughing. “Where he will remain fully clothed until he and I are alone, thank you very much,” he adds, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “But don’t tell Fae he’s in New York. I wanna see her face when she sees him.” He pushes past him and yanks the front door open. “Now, just fuck off!”

Tristan hastily pulls his beanie on his head before walking out to the hallway. “Yes, okay, fucking off.”

“Oh, and T?” Omar is unable to keep the small grin off his face when Tristan turns to look at him curiously. “Careful or you might take someone out with that boner.”

The last thing Omar sees before he shuts the door is Tristan flipping him off with a giant smile.

* * *

_When it comes to Ander’s friends, Omar isn’t really a fan._

_It’s kind of shitty, really, because Omar never wanted to be one of those people who just hated their significant others’ friends on principle, out of some misguided jealousy or something equally stupid._

_And he isn’t, really. But Ander’s friends are just really, really, really shit._

_Guzmán is a flamboyant dick 90% of the time, Carla won’t even look up from her phone long enough to actually give Omar the time of day, and Lu... well. Lu’s growing on him, but he’s come to realize that she and Ander only tolerate one another because they basically share all their friends in common._

_And then there’s Polo, by far Omar’s least favourite of Ander’s friends._

_In his defence, Polo isn’t really anyone’s favourite person. He’s an entitled and manipulative psychopath who blackmailed Ander for months, and oh, did Omar mention he actually murdered Guzmán’s sister?_

_Omar didn’t really know Marina that well, even though they made out at a party once, nor did he like her that much either. She fucked with Samuel and basically ruined Omar’s life when she outed him as her dealer, but she didn’t deserve to die._

_Except that she did. Because apparently that’s what happens in rich people’s worlds - they murder each other and let innocent people take the fall for their crimes._

_Polo also made Ander feel like shit about his costume at Rebeka’s Halloween party._

_And if that wasn’t bad enough, Polo’s the person Ander hooked up with when he and Omar were sort of together but not really._

_Omar is not stupid, of course, he knows Ander is to blame, too. After all, it takes two people to do whatever it is that they did – Omar didn’t want the details - and if Ander’s story is true, it wasn’t like Polo really forced him to do anything._

_And it shouldn’t really matter anyway because murder is worse than sort-of-cheating so Omar already has a real, valid reason to dislike Polo._

_The point is, Omar doesn’t like Ander’s friends, least of all Polo._

* * *

Omar waits for Ander to come out of the bathroom when Tristan leaves, but when 10 minutes later Ander is still nowhere to be seen, curiosity and worry get the better of him.

He sighs, thinking he’s probably being unnecessarily dramatic, but he walks to the bathroom anyway and raps his knuckles gently against the door. “Hey, you’re good?”

Ander pulls the door open immediately, a small, careful smile on his lips. He’s in a shirt and boxers now, the blanket hanging over his shoulder and draping half of his body.

“Yeah,” he mumbles as he walks out. “Just wanted to give you and your... um, whatever he is, some privacy.”

He walks past Omar, heading to the living room and getting back into bed. Omar follows, watching as Ander takes his shirt off before he lies down on his back, raising the blankets to his chin and crossing his hands behind his head. 

He sighs, getting in bed too and hiding his bare legs under the covers. “My friend, Ander.” He lies on his side next to Ander and tries to catch his eye, then props himself up with one arm as he tentatively reaches out the other to rest on Ander’s stomach under the blankets. Ander barely reacts, keeping his eyes firmly on the ceiling. “Tristan’s just my friend.”

Ander bites the inside of his cheek, finally turning his head to look up at Omar. “Not your ex?”

Omar shakes his head, scooting a little closer to him and running his hand from Ander’s stomach to his waist, squeezing lightly when it settles there. “We used to hook up, but that’s the extent of it. It was never serious. He was a good distraction and he’s a hella good friend. He’s helped me through a lot, but I couldn’t be with him.” Omar knows he’s threading on really delicate territory here, because this admission could lead him to a bigger one, one that he’s not sure he’s ready to tell Ander yet. “It ended as soon as I came to the decision that I was going to Spain.”

Ander blinks a few times, features softening as he turns to face him. He reaches a hand and starts fiddling idly with the drawstrings of Omar’s hoodie. Omar’s hand falls from Ander’s waist to his back.

Ander’s eyes are imploring when they meet Omar’s. “Why?”

Omar wants to tell him. He wants to admit that it was because of Ander, that no matter how much time passed or how many people he fucked, it was always about Ander. But it’s absolutely fucking terrifying, laying out his hearts’ content like that. Especially considering how they ended the last time. Omar is not ready to fall that hard again. He’s not sure he’ll ever be.

He shakes his head, looking down at Ander’s fingers on his chest.

“It doesn’t matter,” Omar mumbles, feeling an uncomfortable tightening at the pit of his stomach. “But I do want you to meet T, properly,” he adds after a moment, trying a different approach.

Ander purses his lips, looking quite unimpressed as he twists one of the drawstrings around his fingers a little too aggressively. “You call him T.”

Omar rolls his eyes but he can’t contain his smile. He’s always been quite the fan of jealous Ander. He’s cute.

“Everyone calls him T,” Omar shrugs. “And you’ll like him, I promise. And Fae, too. We can go around to her pub this week, if you want.”

Ander hums. “I don’t know about liking him, but yeah, sure.”

Omar grins. This is new territory – Ander agreeing to go somewhere with him without any reservations and without Omar having to perform a whole monologue about why it’s important to him.

“They know all about you already,” he reassures.

“Right,” Ander mutters, sounding bitter. “The hot ex.”

“Uh-huh.” Omar tightens his arms around Ander slightly and leans forward to press a small kiss to his bicep. “Very hot, yes.”

Ander tugs on the edge of Omar’s hoodie, motioning for him to take it off. Omar smiles as he yanks the sweatshirt over his head and throws it on the floor before he lies back on his side, smiling when Ander adjusts the blankets around them and slips a hand around his waist almost possessively.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he mumbles, catching Omar’s lips in a short, open-mouthed kiss.

Omar presses a palm to Ander’s chest, pushing away lightly to peer up at him with raised eyebrows. “Not so bad?” Ander shrugs lightly. Omar looks up at the ceiling, feigning innocence. “I mean, T says I’m probably the best guy he’s been with, but if not so bad is what you’re going for, I might just go down and find Trist—“

Ander silences him with another kiss, longer this time. His arm tightens around Omar’s waist, his whole body suddenly tensing up.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he practically growls against his lips.

Omar pushes him back lightly until he’s on his back again, keeping his hands firmly around his waist and climbing half on top of him. He levels Ander with a look, moving his hands to rest on either side of Ander’s face.

He wasn’t serious, of course, and he definitely wasn’t expecting such a feral reaction.

“I won’t,” he promises. Ander swallows thickly, his lips pursed lightly as he closes his eyes. He grips Omar’s wrist, tethering himself to him. “It’s only you,” Omar admits after a moment, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Ander’s lips. He feels Ander relax under him, the tension slowly seeping out of his body. Omar doesn’t mean for it to come out, but it does. “It’s always you.”

Ander doesn’t say anything back, but the desperation in his kiss and the way he clings to Omar all morning are enough to let Omar know.

_It’s always you too._

* * *

They’re on their way to grab lunch with Guzmán and Nadia a few days later when Nadia shrieks as they walk past a newsstand.

She leaves them and heads straight for one of the magazine racks, grabbing whatever it is that she noticed and turning to Omar. “Why didn’t you tell me the new issue is out?”

Omar’s lips curl up as he sees the comic.

“I didn’t even realize it was. I’ve been a little distracted lately,” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. 

He feels more than sees Ander smiling next to him, before he, too, reaches for a copy of the magazine and rifles through it. “Wait, this is the comic you work on?” Omar nods, not really knowing what to say. “Is this the issue that has your original?”

“Nah, not this month. That’s for the next issue.”

“Right, but I’m pretty sure that’s his cover,” Nadia chimes in as she runs her fingers gently across the cover. “I can kinda recognize your style now,” she adds, looking up at Omar.

Omar smiles bashfully. “Yeah, it is.”

“For the third month in a row,” Nadia says proudly, holding up the magazine. “Omar, this is insane!”

Guzmán claps Omar on the back with a huge grin on his face.

“Okay, now I’m definitely buying this,” Ander says, taking in the cover with what can only be described as awe.

Nadia grabs another couple of copies - for her parents, for Lu, for the wall - and snatches Ander’s from his hands. “I got it.”

Omar watches as Ander nods lightly, still beaming with pride and mumbling something about how he’ll at least have something to read now while Omar works.

Ander adjusts the beanie over his head, walking back over to Omar and Guzmán and smiling to himself.

And yeah, Omar loves him so damn much.

* * *

They finally make it down to the pub a few days later.

Despite the music, Fae’s head snaps up as soon as she hears the pub door open, taking one look at Omar before she smiles broadly. “Naaaaah, nah, nah, nah. I can’t believe my eyes! He’s actually alive!” She doesn’t wait for Omar to say anything back, jumping over the bar and throwing her arms around him. She lets got of him after a moment, keeping one hand firmly on his arm as she looks over his shoulder with a curious expression on her face. “Do I know— WAIT A MINUTE!” Her gaze flickers back and forth from Omar to Ander for a few seconds before she gasps. “Omar! It’s your pretty white boy!”

And that’s all it takes, really, for Ander to be welcomed into their little ragtag group. She pulls Ander by the hand and sits him front and centre at the bar, declaring his drinks – and only his drinks - on the house and ignoring Omar and Tristan’s stream of objections and rants. 

They’ve been at the pub for barely ten minutes when Chris leaves and Fae immediately blurts out that he and Tristan have been basically fucking at all hours of the day. Omar is scandalized and Tristan mortified because “I can’t believe I’m into a fucking Abercrombie model”. 

But that seems to put Ander’s mind at ease, somewhat, enough for him to actually try and strike up a conversation with Tristan and laugh at his jokes and bond with him over their mutual love of obscure bougie clothing brands.

The pub gets pretty crowded after a while, as it usually does, except that Fae is alone behind the bar – her new hire has an exam the next day and Fae was nice enough to give her the night off, even though Chris also needed the night off.

Omar turns to Ander. “You mind if I jump to the other side and help Fae?”

Ander shakes his head, a small, wicked smile colouring his face. “I’ve missed seeing you behind a bar anyway.”

Omar is barely out of his seat before Ander slips onto the vacated stool next to Tristan, and the two of them spend the rest of the night getting wasted together. They even make plans to check out this really shit store they both like.

When Fae finally calls it a night a few hours later, she takes them out back to share a joint and demands to know how Omar and Ander met. Omar shrugs but Ander is having a good enough time to actually humour her, so he tells her all about how he got Christian to introduce him to his dealer, only to find said dealer on Grindr a few days later.

He laughs as he remembers how Omar ran out on him, and then how _he_ ran out on Omar, and how they spent much of the first few weeks running out on each other, really, and how eventually, Ander pretty much wore Omar down by essentially following him around like a sad puppy.

Fae snorts. “So the moral of this story is you two really live up to the gay disaster stereotype.”

Ander laughs. “Pretty much. Things got even messier after that and I fucked up and he fucked up and we fucked up and now I’m here, trying to unfuck it all up.”

They’re all quiet for a moment, not really sure where to go on from there, until Tristan raises his eyebrows, blowing out some smoke and looking pointedly at Ander. “By fucking him.”

Ander barks a laugh and Omar relaxes a little and Fae demands that Ander comes back to the pub at least every night until he has to go back to Spain.

The night couldn’t have gone better if he’d planned it exactly that way, Omar decides.

* * *

The other shoe drops on their way home.

* * *

They’re sidestepping a group of people gathered in front of a pub close to Omar’s place, when Ander crashes into someone.

Omar immediately puts a steadying hand on Ander’s shoulder as he looks up to make sure he and the person in front of him are both okay, and he’s met with a familiar face staring back at the both of them.

It’s Malick, of all people. Omar doesn’t really know whether to laugh or cry, but he’s pretty sure he might throw up.

They all stare at each other with wide eyes for a few awkward minutes, Ander still as a statue and pale as a ghost next to Omar, before Malick mumbles something about how it’s good to see them and then disappears inside the pub.

They walk in complete silence after that, and Omar thinks he might really be sick.

* * *

Nadia, Lu and Guzmán aren’t home when they get there, probably still at the Columbia party the girls dragged Guzmán to, and for the first time since Ander got to New York, Omar dreads the fact that they’re alone in the apartment.

The fact is, somewhere deep inside, Omar has always known that the only way he and Ander can actually get anywhere is by talking about all the ways they screwed over one another.

But they never did. Talking about the important stuff was never their strong suit, and Omar wasn’t really looking forward to dredging up all the pain he’s caused Ander, nor the pain he continues to carry around because of him.

Ander, on the other hand, seems to think this is the perfect night to start this conversation, because he’s barely taken his jacket off before he leans against the kitchen counter, watching Omar toe off his shoes with a contemplative look. “That was weird, seeing Malick tonight.”

Malick. A guy Omar hasn’t seen or really thought of in years, who walked back into his life for exactly 30 seconds tonight and yanked him straight back to where he and Ander left off, cheating and heartbreaks and all, reminding Omar that he and Ander have been floating on a version of reality that wasn’t really theirs. Not yet.

“It was,” Omar agrees, trying to keep his voice level. “I haven’t seen him since I moved out of his place. And that was, like, barely two weeks after we got to New York.”

Ander frowns. “I thought you were really into him. Didn’t you, like, leave me for him?”

Omar’s head snaps up to look at Ander, his brows pushing together as he feels an inexplicable cold course through his entire body. “I left you for him?” His voice sounds as incredulous as he feels. “I’m sorry, did I hit my head as we were walking home or something? Because as far as I remember, _you_ broke up with me.”

“Omar—“

“ _You_ left me for someone else. _You_ kicked me out of your house.”

The pain is as fresh and stabbing as it was on that day, when he called Samuel to beg him for a place to stay. 

Ander sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at his feet. 

“There was never anyone else, Omar,” he admits after a moment. “I only said that to push you away, to free you from your prison and let you be with Malick.” He looks up at Omar with a pair of accusing eyes. “Isn’t that what I was to you? A prison?” 

Omar’s ears start ringing. He’s hearing Ander’s words, but he cannot bring himself to make sense of them, suddenly feeling so drained, like his legs might buckle under his weight at any moment.

All he manages to mutter is a confused “What?”

Ander sighs again, keeping his arms firmly crossed and looking away from Omar. 

“I saw some texts on your phone, back then. From Malick. Not my proudest moment,” he adds quickly, like Omar really has the energy or clarity of mind to care about Ander snooping through his phone. “I knew you were having a hard time because of me but I didn’t know you felt trapped until I saw those messages, and then I realized you were only staying with me out of some stupid sense of obligation. And that wasn’t fair to either of us, especially not you. And then when Malick told me you guys were crazy about each other, I knew I had to end it.”

Omar feels completely overwhelmed. His mind is fogged up with memories that seem completely irrelevant or even wrong now. It’s like everything he thought he knew about his relationship with Ander, and especially about how they ended, seems to make no sense anymore.

There’s so much to unpack in what Ander just said, that Omar doesn’t really know where to begin, so he starts with the easiest one.

“Malick was just a hookup, Ander. He was an escape.”

Ander bites the inside of his cheek, eyeing Omar from underneath his lashes. “That’s what I thought, at first. But then I heard you with my own ears, Omar. You told him it was more than that.”

Omar shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “What?”

“At graduation. I went to find you and you were with him in the locker room.”

So that’s why Guzmán thinks Ander talked to him at graduation, Omar realizes. Not that that mattered, right now. He had more pressing issues to clear up.

Omar sighs, finally pulling his jacket off and moving to sit on the couch. 

Ander doesn’t move, glued to the side of the kitchen counter, the distance between them suddenly feeling almost too wide to overcome.

“You pushed me away, Ander,” Omar says, his voice as tired as he feels. He’s trying not to sound accusing, or to blame it all on him. He’s just trying to make sense of it. All of it. “I was hurt and scared for you and he was there and he wanted me and he let me talk and he didn’t push me away all the time. I wanted to be liked,” Omar admits, trying to keep his voice steady. “So I pretended that I wasn’t using him to fill up this hole inside of me that only got bigger the more I thought about losing you.”

Ander swallows thickly. “All I wanted was for you to be happy.”

Omar’s composure finally collapses. “Well then why didn’t you just fucking talk to me?” His voice breaks and angry tears threaten to fall down his cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me you found out instead of deciding for yourself that pushing me away and breaking my heart was what was best for me?”

Ander draws his bottom lip between his teeth, shrugging. “You broke my heart, too.”

It feels like it’s too much, all of a sudden. All this hurt and pain and anger they keep rehashing. It feels all-consuming, burning Omar from the inside, and for a split second, he isn’t sure it’s worth it.

It’s in that split second of doubt that he speaks his next words. “Then why the fuck are we trying to save something that clearly doesn’t work?”

Ander huffs a small, unamused laugh, his face flashing with pain. “I don’t know, Omar.” His voice is low as he shakes his head and blinks a few times. To keep the tears from falling, Omar knows. Because god forbid Ander ever shows too much emotion. Ander pushes away from the counter, reaching for his jacket on the coat rack, slipping it on and finding the beanie in his pocket. “I’m going for a walk.”

Omar jumps off the couch, walking over to him and gripping his sleeve. “It’s almost 2 in the morning, Ander, and it’s fucking freezing outside. We had too much to drink, and we’re high. You don’t even know your way around the city.”

Ander shuts his eyes tightly for a moment before unlocking the door. “I’ll figure it out,” he reassures. “I just… I need to get out of here.” 

Omar loosens his grip on Ander’s jacket but doesn’t move. Ander sighs as he yanks his arm away gently before leaving the house and closing the door behind him.


	16. XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omar wakes up to an empty bed.

Omar distracts himself by pulling the couch open and fixing up the bed, reminding himself that Ander is a grown-ass man who is fully capable of taking care of himself. But when Ander doesn’t come back half an hour later, he starts to panic.

* * *

_“We have to make up now.”_

_Ander looks up from his phone to stare at Omar, looking far less annoyed than he did earlier. “What?”_

_Omar sighs as he removes the sheets from his side of the bed and climbs in, pushing the blanket to the bottom of the mattress. At some point in the night he’ll get cold and will cover himself from head to toe, but right now he’s way too hot to actually use it._

_“We’re going to bed,” Omar explains as he fixes the pillows on his side of the bed, settling back and turning to look at Ander. Ander completely drops his phone now, turning on his side and propping himself against his arm as he continues to stare at Omar. “I’m still mad at you and slightly want to strangle you because I know you still believe you’re right even though you’re fucking wrong...” he trails off, rolling his eyes and trying to ignore Ander’s disbelieving scoff. “But we have to make up.”_

_“You’re fucking insane, Omar,” Ander mumbles as he rubs his face tiredly, turning to leave his phone on his bedside table and then sinking further into the mattress. “We can’t just magically make up when you decide we should.”_

_“We have to,” Omar insists. Ander only stares up at him blankly, looking mildly impatient. Omar sighs. “My dad might be a total jerk who kicked me out, but he and my mom have always been together. Like, since they were 14 or something that ridiculous. And when I was a kid, back when he had hope that I wouldn’t be the gay disappointment that I am today, he always told me that the secret to a happy marriage was to never let my wife go to sleep mad at me.” Ander doesn’t say anything but his features soften into something less annoyed and more amused. Omar raises his eyebrows pointedly. “You’re the closest thing I have to a wife, so we have to make up.”_

_Ander rolls his eyes. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard. My parents went to bed mad at each other all the time.”_

_“And now they’re divorced, you dumbass, you’re proving my point,” Omar mutters. “You suck at arguing.”_

_Ander rolls his eyes again. “Okay, fair, but that’s still the stupidest thing I’ve heard.”_

_“Yeah, well, an hour ago, you were telling me who I should and shouldn’t be friends with,” Omar shoots back calmly, “which is the stupidest thing I’ve heard. And yet here I am, trying to make sure we’re okay.”_

_“Omar,” Ander murmurs, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, looking as tired as Omar feels. “I’m just looking out for you. Lu can be an asshole and I don’t wanna see you hurt.”_

_“I’m sure she can be,” Omar agrees, “but she’s not the one who walked out on me yesterday and left me alone at a restaurant with two people I barely know, one of whom outed me to my sister and has been nothing but a dick to me since the day I met him.”_

_Ander sighs again, but he reaches out a hand to hold Omar’s wrist, a small peace offering. “I apologized this morning, and earlier when we were fighting, and I’ll do it again now. I’m sorry for bailing on you last night, it was a dick move. I just have a lot on my mind.”_

_Omar feels his resolve melting. He shakes his head, looking down at his lap, where Ander’s fingers are running soft circles on his forearm._ _“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have to have a lot on your mind if you just let me in.”_

_Ander swallows thickly. “I didn’t mean to imply that you can’t be friends with Lu,” he says, completely brushing over Omar’s last comment. “I just want you to be careful.”_

_Omar closes his eyes for a moment. He’s tired of trying to get his boyfriend to open up to him._

_“I’m not a child,” he mumbles. “And you’re changing the subject, but I’m too tired to argue, and I absolutely can’t miss school tomorrow or I’ll officially get suspended. So I need to sleep.”_

_“Right, and in order to do that, you gotta keep the wife happy,” Ander finishes for him, watching Omar with a mildly amused expression._

_Omar purses his lips, raising his eyebrows as he peers down at his boyfriend. “Exactly.”_

_Ander bites the inside of his cheek for a moment, mulling something over in his head before he tugs Omar down, climbing half on top of him. Omar feels his resolve melting, unable to really contain the smile growing on his face._

_Ander hums. “Okay, well, as said wife, I’m still not feeling very happy.” He grabs Omar’s hand and guides it down between them. “But I can easily change my mind.”_

_Omar smiles wider, shoving his hand down Ander’s boxers and leaning forward to kiss him._

_“That is an abuse of power,” he mumbles against his lips before he pushes him backwards slightly to get a better angle, until Ander is completely on his back._

_Ander grins, pulling his lower lip between his teeth and blinking his eyes closed. Omar will never tire of the way he can make Ander fall apart with a simple touch._

_Ander pushes himself up to press his mouth against Omar’s, biting down on his boyfriend’s lower lip. Omar smiles as he runs his thumb over the tip of Ander’s cock, enjoying the way Ander chokes out a laugh far too much._

_Ander sucks on Omar’s lip before he pulls away,_ _cocking up an eyebrow and grabbing Omar suddenly through his boxers. Omar lets out a loud, surprised laugh._

_“No one said the wife had to play fair.”_

* * *

Omar picks up his phone to call Ander, but before he can dial the number, his phone pings with a text notification.

**_Guzmán_ **

_He’s with me._

He breathes a little easier but can’t bring himself to relax completely.

The last thing he wanted to do was to reopen the wounds of the past and actually talk about all of this, but now that they have, Omar knows he wants to finish this. 

He can’t keep this whole thing up, not knowing where he and Ander stand or where they’re going. More importantly, he needs to clear the air, because if there’s one thing he’s learned tonight, it’s that he and Ander aren’t at all on the same page about how or why they ended, or why Omar left for New York in the first place.

And that falls on both of them, because maybe they wouldn’t be here if they had actually talked about it when they should’ve. But all the what ifs don’t matter anymore; watching Ander walk away from him again tonight made Omar realize that he never wants to see him do that ever again. 

He pulls his thickest jacket on, covering his head with his favourite red beanie and wrapping himself up with a thick scarf before he slips his sneakers on. He shoves his phone, keys and cigarette pack into his pockets and walks out of the apartment.

He doesn’t go far, plopping down on the small staircase that leads up to his building’s front door and lighting a cigarette up. 

He’s not sure what he’s trying to accomplish by sitting here, the ground freezing under him. But he can’t be in his apartment right now, and despite the cold, the cool air and faint sounds of the city are oddly comforting.

Nadia and Lu show up a bit later and try to get him to go up to the apartment with them, but Omar begs them to leave him alone, promising he’ll go up when he’s ready. 

It’s another half hour before Ander and Guzmán finally get back. Omar doesn’t see them, at first, huddled over himself, nearly asleep and trying to keep warm. But then he feels a big, warm hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up, he finds Guzmán standing over him.

Omar tears his gaze away from him to meet Ander’s eyes, vaguely registering Guzmán squeezing his shoulder and disappearing inside the building.

Ander’s gaze softens as he takes him in, his eyes loaded with guilt, and Omar only shakes his head as he stands up, trying to let him know that he’s okay.

Ander doesn’t say anything, climbing the staircase and stopping one step below Omar to face him. He reaches out to grip Omar’s pockets wordlessly, pulling him closer and taking him in his arms. Omar closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms around Ander’s neck and hiding his face in his shoulder for a few minutes.

“I didn’t mean it,” he mumbles, the words muffled in Ander’s jacket, but Ander only tightens his arms around him, shaking his head.

“I know,” he reassures. “I know.” 

Ander pulls away and kisses Omar’s jaw before he presses their foreheads together. Omar grips Ander’s thick beanie and tugs it closer to make sure it’s covering his ears. Ander smiles softly before pressing a kiss to Omar’s lips and leaning back. He doesn’t let go completely, keeping a firm grip on his hand and leading him to the front door.

Omar unlocks the gate and then the house once they’re on his floor, only letting go of Ander to change. Ander does the same before they climb into bed together, clinging to one another under the covers and allowing sleep to wash over them.

* * *

Omar wakes up to an empty bed.

He blinks his eyes open as his hand grips only bare sheets on Ander’s side, trying to keep the instant disappointment he feels from consuming him.

He pushes himself into a sitting position on the bed, rubbing his eyes and letting the thick blankets pool around him. He looks around his small apartment, taking in the eerie calm. He throws a glance towards the kitchen window, squinting against the harsh light, but it’s closed and he can’t see anyone on the fire escape. There’s no sound coming from the girls’ rooms, no music or faint voices filtering through, which means they’re not here.

He can see a coffee pot on the kitchen counter, though, the only sign that someone was awake and here at some point this morning. He could use some coffee, really, but it’s too far away and Omar doesn’t have the energy to get up right now, crippled by his headache. His jaw is straining, he realizes, teeth grinding together as they so often do when he’s worried and stressed.

He eases the pressure on his mouth and rubs his temples, immediately feeling better, before he reaches for his phone.

It’s almost 11. And he has a message.

**_Nadia_ **

_Benny’s. If you need backup, let me know._

Omar stares at his phone for a long moment. He’s not exactly sure what he would need backup for until a few moments later, when he hears the sound of the bathroom door unlocking, and suddenly Ander is walking into the living room, lips curling up in a soft, lopsided smile when he notices Omar is awake. 

He’s in one of Omar’s hoodies and his favourite pair of sweatpants, hair sticking up at odd angles and face flushed. Omar can’t help the overwhelming sense of relief that washes over him.

The truth is, stupid as it sounds, a part of him was worried Ander had walked out on him again.

He doesn’t say anything, but his body gives him away; his fingers flex unconsciously in Ander’s direction for a moment, before he grips the blankets around him and tries to muster up a smile.

Ander gets the message anyway, his smile growing warm as he approaches the bed and walks over to Omar’s side, leaning down to press a warm kiss to the base of his jaw before sitting down on the edge of the bed and wrapping him up in a hug.

Omar allows himself to sink into Ander, releasing a shaky breath and holding onto him.

“Morning,” Ander mumbles in his neck, his hands rubbing Omar’s back gently. He pulls away but keeps his hands on Omar’s waist, squeezing lightly. “Coffee?”

Omar nods silently, fixing the pillows behind him when Ander gets up and leaning his back against the wall.

He takes the offered mug, mumbling a small “thanks” and taking a sip. Ander climbs into his side of the bed but stays firmly over the sheets, sitting squarely next to Omar and taking a sip from his coffee. 

“Everyone was already gone when I woke up,” Ander says at the same time Omar asks “How are you feeling?”

Omar huffs a small laugh while Ander smiles and dips his head, both relaxing. Ander shifts back on the bed and fixes his pillows to lean back against the wall too, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Omar.

“They’re at Benny’s,” Omar says after a moment, turning to look at Ander, who only stares back with a mildly confused look on his face. “It’s the 23rd today, right?“ Ander checks his phone briefly before nodding. “There’s this pub called Benny’s that serves a home-cooked Christmas lunch on the 23rd every year. It’s a tiny place but they have the best pancakes and their Christmas lunch is so good that you have to reserve, like, a full six months ahead. Fae has a standing reservation, though. She took us there our first year here, and it’s become sort of a tradition. It’s the only festive thing we do, really. A bunch of Fae’s friends will be there too, and Chris, and usually Lu and Nadia’s friends, and they’ll probably stay well into the night there. It’s the first time Tristan will be there too, this year. So we can meet them there, if you’re up for it.”

Ander nods immediately, smiling. “Yeah, yeah, for sure. That kinda sounds awesome. I mean, I haven’t seen my boy Tristan in a solid, what, eight hours? I miss him.”

Omar snorts, nearly spitting his coffee. “I have to say, this was not the development I was expecting.” Ander laughs as he bumps his shoulder with Omar’s lightly before settling back. They remain quiet for a few moments, Omar’s thoughts racing. He tugs on his lower lips with his fingers after some time, pulling it between his teeth nervously. “So, how are you feeling?”

Ander shrugs. “For the most part okay. I just feel like shit that I bailed on you.”

Omar shakes his head, straightening up and turning to face Ander. He crosses his legs in front of him, cradling his mug between his hands.

“You needed space, I get it,” he reassures. “Seeing Malick last night fucked me up too.” He sighs. “We’ve been trying to pretend like we can just pick up where we left off without talking about any of it…” he trails off, shaking his head to clear it. He fixes Ander with a look. “We left off at a really shit place, Ander. So maybe we _should_ talk about that. I mean, I did some really stupid things—“

“We both did stupid things,” Ander cuts in. Omar shakes his head but Ander continues before he can say anything. “Yes,” he insists. “I was a dick to you for most of our relationship.” He pauses, closing his eyes briefly. “I treated you like crap and I pushed you away and I made you feel like you weren’t enough, and you stayed with me anyway.”

“You were going through so much, things no one should go through.”

“So were you,” Ander counters. “You fought your dad for me, got thrown out on the street, stuck by me when I was being an asshole—“

Omar shakes his head. “Ander, I was always going to have to confront my dad. It was always gonna happen, you just speeded things up.” He stops to rest a hand on Ander’s knee, fingers threading the fabric of his pants softly. “It was mostly just bad timing. First, the whole Marina thing, and then us moving in together so fast, and then Polo’s secret, and you getting sick, and...” he trails off, suddenly assaulted with memories of him and Ander sitting around a small kitchen table, Ander telling him he’s sick. Of a frail and tired and sick Ander getting worse while Omar just lingers by his side helplessly, not knowing how to help him or make it better.

He swallows thickly and shuts his eyes, trying to chase the darkness away.

As if sensing his unease, Ander sets their mugs on the nearby table before turning back to Omar and cradling his face. “Hey.” He manoeuvres Omar’s face up and forces his downcast eyes to meet his. “I’m okay,” he reassures, thumbs ghosting over Omar’s lips gently. “Omar, I’m fine.”

Omar shakes his head, pulling away so he can look at Ander properly, allowing Ander’s hands to fall from his face to his lap.

“I wasn’t trapped because of you,” he blurts out, needing Ander to know. It’s the one thought that wouldn’t leave his mind all night. That Ander went all this time thinking Omar felt caged by him. Ander’s brow furrows for a slight second before his eyes clear with recognition. ”I was never trapped because of you. It was just the situation we were in. Because you were sick and in pain and getting worse and I couldn’t do anything to help or make it better or make you feel good. And I was angry that I couldn’t help, that I wasn’t enough, that you were pushing me away. That’s what Malick was. Somewhere I could release all this toxic tension.”

Ander nods lightly, a sad expression on his face when he dips his head down. “And I was already going through a lot and you couldn’t really talk to me.”

Omar sighs. “Kinda.”

“That’s a shit coping mechanism, you know,” Ander says after a moment, glancing up at Omar. “If you can’t be upfront with me when you’re feeling like shit, regardless of how I’m feeling, then there’s no point in us even trying this again.”

Omar’s chest swells with hope at the implication that Ander wants to do this again. Which is ridiculous, he knows. That implication should’ve been clear the minute Ander came strutting through the airport with Guzmán.

“You’re one to talk. You invented bottling shit up.”

“I know, I know,” Ander concedes, rubbing the back of his neck in defeat. “But I’m trying.”

“I noticed,” Omar admits. “You’ve already told me more since the summer than you did the entire time we were together,” he teases, wagging his eyebrows. 

Ander huffs a small laugh. Omar runs a hand through Ander’s hair and down his cheek, smiling when Ander automatically leans into his touch. 

“I know it’s more than a couple of years late, but you _were_ enough,” Ander says, levelling him with a look. “You’re the only thing that kept me sane when everything was happening with Polo and when I got sick. And I hate that I ever made you think you weren’t.”

Omar shrugs. “It’s okay. I know now.”

Ander sighs, taking one of Omar’s hands between the both of his and fiddling with his fingers. He keeps his gaze fixated on their hands.

“It’s not just that,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t there for you.” Omar wants to argue immediately, but Ander doesn’t let him. “Seeing you this past summer in Madrid, and here… You’re comfortable, happy. I hate that you felt like you couldn’t be that way with me.”

Omar squeezes Ander’s fingers. “You’re making up for it now. You’re halfway across the world making up for it, you’re talking to me and opening up…hell, you even made the first move when I went back to Madrid.”

Ander’s head snaps up, features twisting in confusion. “I made the first move?”

Omar nods. “When you came to see me at the shop. When you invited me to Rebe’s birthday party.”

Ander closes his eyes, letting out a noise between a sigh and a groan.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath.

Omar feels very defensive all of a sudden. “What?”

Ander looks at him incredulously. “Hello? You came back to Madrid?”

“And?”

Ander shakes his head. “That was the first move!”

Omar’s eyes widen. “Wait, so I made the first move?”

“You’re an actual dumbass, I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” Ander mutters, but the fondness in his eyes and the amusement in his voice give him away. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I’m gonna use it to win every fight from now on!”

Ander snorts. “I’m so glad to know you foresee plenty of fights. Real reassuring stuff.” Omar grins widely, shoving him lightly but keeping a firm grip on his hands so he doesn’t get too far away. Ander’s smile softens as he readjusts his position, extending his legs on either side of Omar. “So, what now?”

Omar uncrosses his legs and props them over Ander’s on either side of him, scooting closer and resting his hands on Ander’s face. He threads his fingers through the soft curls at the nape of Ander’s neck, the familiarity of this moment not lost on him. Ander’s lips curl up, and Omar knows he’s thinking about another time they were sitting exactly like this too.

_You know what? I love you._

“No bullshit,” Omar says, his voice low. “I want to be with you. I never stopped. There was never anyone else, and it’s such bullshit and it makes me want to punch myself in the face because I don’t believe in shit like finding the love of your life or whatever, especially not when you’re 16, that’s stupid,” he rambles, almost disgusted with the idea. Ander chuckles lightly. “But this feels pretty fucking close,” he admits reluctantly after a moment, rolling his eyes at himself. Ander bites the inside of his cheek, probably to keep from smiling too wide. “And no amount of time or distance or people has changed that.”

Ander’s gaze is soft and happy when Omar finally looks at him, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed. “So I’m the love of your life, then?”

“Fuck off,” Omar mutters.

He’s trying so very hard to keep a pissed off expression and contain his smile. He punches Ander lightly in the shoulder to emphasize his point, but Ander takes hold of his fist and pulls him rather abruptly, pressing his lips to Omar’s and drowning his objection out.

Omar relaxes immediately, cradling Ander’s face again and getting lost in the kiss. When he pulls away, he’s almost dizzy with happiness.

Ander grips Omar’s sleeve, looking uncertain. “I’m not good at talking… But no amount of time or distance or people has changed that for me either.” Omar smiles and Ander presses their foreheads together. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

“I’m sorry I hooked up with someone else.”

Ander shrugs. “I kinda told you to do that.”

“You did,” Omar agrees, forehead creasing as he leans back to properly look at him. “But I should’ve known that you were being a self-sacrificing dumbass.” Ander’s lips curl up, one of his eyebrows raising pointedly. “You can’t do that anymore,” Omar pleads, fingers tight around Ander’s face. “You can’t just close in on yourself anytime shit gets tough. You can’t shut me out and make decisions that affect the both of us.”

Ander nods, his face as serious as Omar’s now, reaching out to grasp one of Omar’s hands on his cheek. “I know. I just, sometimes I don’t know how to let it out and I end up doing shit I shouldn’t be doing to be less of a burden, I guess.”

“You’re not a burden,” Omar dismisses immediately. “You were never a burden, so you better stop with that self-sacrificing romantic hero shit. It’s enough that we just did the whole love of my life thing, we can’t use up all the clichés in the world.”

Ander laughs lightly, shaking his head as Omar grins. 

“I’m working on that,” Ander promises. “But you gotta work with me here.”

“I want to.”

Ander smiles. “I don’t know how things are gonna work with you being on one side of the world and me being on the other, but I don’t care. I want to make it work. I know this maybe makes me naïve…”

“It doesn’t make you naïve,” Omar reassures, contemplating whether to tell him about his Spain plan yet, but then deciding against it. “We’ll figure it out, I promise,” he says instead, running his fingers through Ander’s hair and pulling him in for another kiss.

“Good.” Ander pulls away to reach for their coffees, face crumpling when he takes a sip from the now-cold drink. “Can we go for some pancakes? I’m starving.”

Omar raises his eyebrows. “We have the house to ourselves and you’re choosing pancakes instead?”

Ander winces apologetically. “Yes?”

Omar laughs, shaking his head as he gets off the bed. “That’s exactly why I love you.”

* * *

On New Year’s Eve, at exactly 00:00, surrounded by a billion people, Omar drunkenly kisses his boyfriend in the streets of New York because he’s tacky like that, and Ander kisses him back, laughing against his lips when Omar squeezes him way too tight.

* * *

**_Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz._ **

_Omar blinks his eyes open, the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand rousing him up._

_He reaches for his phone, the device vibrating in his hand several more times, the screen illuminated with text after text, all spelling out variations of the same message: Happy New Year._

_He looks at the clock on his phone. 00:02._

_Yeah, that definitely explains his phone is blowing up._

_He rubs his face tiredly, turning slightly to look at Ander. He can hear Ander’s phone vibrating on his side of the bed with the same frequency as Omar’s is, but Ander is dead to the world._

_He had a really bad couple of days. He tried to visit Guzmán the day before, only to be turned away at the door, and then found out that Polo would be released early. To make matters worse, his dad made another ridiculously over-the-top scene about Ander not being the same and changing too much, this time because Ander told him he didn’t want to spend the rest of his vacation at his cousin’s place like they had planned._

_Omar thought getting him to go out tonight would maybe change his mood a little, but Ander refused to go to Rebeka’s party and didn’t want to spend the night at a Teatro Barceló with Omar either._

_Omar was never really fond of going out on New Year’s, so he only really wanted to go to the club because he’d get paid a shit ton of money for working that shift. Not to mention, the tips tonight would be out of this world._

_But Ander came first, and Omar knew he couldn’t leave him alone, no matter how much Ander urged him to. Instead, Omar got Manuel to cover for him and spent the night in with Ander and Azucena, playing stupid board games to pass the time, drinking way too much tequila, and passing out before the clock had even struck midnight._

_The sheets rustle next to Omar and he notices Ander moving slightly. He wonders if he can hear his phone buzzing, but Ander only frowns in his sleep, turning to Omar’s side and reaching blindly for him._

_His hand lands harshly on Omar chin, nearly slapping him, and Omar tries to stifle the laugh even as he winces in pain. He adjusts Ander’s hand so it’s on his chest, moving a little closer to him. Ander also wiggles closer too, his hand grabbing Omar’s shirt loosely as he buries his face in Omar’s arm._

_Omar smiles, silencing his phone before he closes his eyes and buries a hand in Ander’s hair._

_As far as new years go, he’s had worse._

* * *

On New Year’s Eve, at exactly 00:01, surrounded by a billion people, Guzmán gets down on one knee and asks Nadia to marry him in the streets of New York because he’s tacky like that, and Omar wrenches his lips away from his boyfriend, staring with wide eyes as his sister gasps and clasps her hands on her mouth, only coming out of her shock when Lu and Fae start yelling “SAY YES!!!!!” at the top of their lungs behind her. 

Omar watches as his sister starts nodding vigorously, only managing to giggle uncontrollably before she pulls Guzmán up by the hand and nearly tackles him to the ground in her excitement.

Omar lets out an amazed laugh, keeping an arm firmly around Ander’s shoulder. “That little shit! He didn’t tell me. You know he’s supposed to ask me, right?”

Ander’s eyebrows disappear in his hair, mouth set in a confused frown. “He asked your dad, isn’t that enough?”

“No, he’s supposed to ask all the men in the family because we’re all Nadia’s guardians-slash-owners,” he tells him, wagging his eyebrows before he rolls his eyes at these archaic traditions. He gasps suddenly, turning to stare at Ander with wide eyes. “Wait a minute, _you knew_?”

“Of course, I knew. I’m his best friend!”

Omar splutters, fully offended, but Ander drags him by the hand before he can say anything, only letting go of him to hug Guzmán. 

Omar finally tears his eyes away from Ander to turn his attention to his sister, smiling when she flashes him a watery smile that turns into a full-out giggle, unable to contain herself.

Omar laughs too, taking Nadia in his arms, squeezing her tightly and kissing her cheek several hundred times. Nadia squeals delightedly as she tries to shove him away, but her struggle only gets worse when a very tipsy Lu comes barrelling into them, screaming “ROOMATE HUG!” and jumping on the both of them.

Omar has barely managed to untangle himself when he’s again swept into a hug, this time by an overexcited Guzmán. “We’re gonna be brothers!!!”

He laughs loudly as he hugs Guzmán back and claps him on the back, waiting to be set back on the ground before he ruffles Guzmán’s hair and congratulates him.

He’s swept into another pair of arms and it takes him only a moment to recognize Ander embracing him from behind. Omar relaxes immediately, holding on to the arms around his neck. He smiles when Ander leans forward to press his lips against his cheek and kiss him obnoxiously loud, protesting and laughing as he tries to yank himself away.

* * *

They’re walking back home hours later, Ander’s arm hanging loosely around Omar’s shoulder, the snow melting around them and the sky a soft mishmash of pastel pinks and purples and oranges and blues, when Omar turns to look at Ander. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

Ander’s brow furrows for a moment before he rolls his eyes in recognition. “Are you still on that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ander groans. “Omar, come on…” Omar stops in his tracks, forcing Ander to stop walking too and turning a pair of suspicious eyes to look at him. “Alright fine, I’ll tell you,” Ander concedes, “but only if you keep walking.” He pushes Omar forward with the arm around him. Omar gives in and starts walking again, albeit a lot slower than before, head turned to the side and eyes focused on Ander’s profile. Ander sighs. “I didn’t trust you to keep your mouth shut.” 

Omar scoffs, his eyebrows disappearing under his beanie. Nadia, Lu and Guzmán stop to look back at them for just a moment, before they turn and resume their walking.

Omar stops again. “Excuse me?!”

Ander tries to get him to move but Omar doesn’t budge.

“Omar, please,” Ander pleads, “it’s literally dawn and I’m tired and I just wanna be at my home and in my bed.”

“Your home is in Madrid,” Omar point out, pursing his lips.

Ander reaches a hand to grip Omar’s collar, his features melting into an innocent look. “My home is wherever you are.”

Omar snorts loudly, unable to hide his smile when Ander grins mischievously, tongue peeking between his teeth.

“Nice try,” he mutters, but he starts walking again, grabbing Ander’s arm and swinging it over his shoulder. Ander obliges, leaning closer as they walk. “You don’t think I can keep a secret?”

Ander shakes his head. “Not to dredge up the painful past, but Rebeka kept my cancer a secret from her own boyfriend for a whole three months until I was ready to tell everyone at school. You didn’t make it 48 hours without telling half of Madrid. So yes, it is very valid for me not to trust you to keep your mouth shut.”

Omar opens his mouth to protest but only a measly squeak comes out. He opens and closes his mouth silently for several moments, not unlike a fish.

“Okay, okay,” he manages eventually, “first of all, stop pulling the cancer card every time you want to win a fight, and second, I’m offended. I can keep a secret.”

Ander shakes his head in amusement, lips curling up on one side. “Oh, yeah? And what secret have you kept?”

Omar wracks his brain before his eyes light up. “Well, my sexuality, for one thing. I kept that a secret for years!”

“Did you really, though? I mean, if you gave all your clients the same treatment that you gave me, I’m not sure it was a very well-kept secret,” Ander teases.

Omar huffs. “Shut up, you only found out because of the app,” he defends lamely. “And then you chased me around for weeks until I had no choice but to give in.”

Ander’s face lights up, his lips spreading into a wide, proud and happy grin. “Yeah, I did.” He leans in and presses a loud kiss to Omar’s cheek to emphasize his point.

Omar tries to look offended, but truthfully, he can barely contain his smile.

“Dumbass,” he mutters under his breath, unable to hide the fondness in his tone, especially when Ander laughs lightly. Omar is thoughtful for a moment before he speaks again. “There is another secret I haven’t told you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ander challenges again, but he looks curious now. “What’s that?”

Omar bites the inside of his cheek, feeling slightly nervous and keeping his eyes trained firmly in front of him. “I’m moving back to Madrid this summer.”

Ander stumbles lightly for a second, his arm around Omar’s shoulder the only thing saving him from tumbling to the ground. Omar can hear Ander’s breathing shallow out as he turns a pair of unfocused eyes towards Omar.

“That’s not funny,” he whispers.

Omar shakes his head. “It’s not a joke. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It feels like the right time. Our lease is up in July and Nadia and Lu are both out as soon as it is. I have money saved up, plenty of freelance work, and my publisher even wants me to keep working for them remotely.” Ander only stares at him with his mouth slightly hanging open. “New York is amazing,” Omar adds, “but it was always going to be a temporary thing. It’s not Madrid. It’s not home.” When Ander still doesn’t say anything, Omar’s nerves get the better of him. “And now would be a great time for you to say something because the only thing I wasn’t sure about was how you’d react, but then you came here so I assumed you’d be happy but you don’t look happy—“

“You asshole,” Ander cuts in, letting out an excited chuckle. “I was out here figuring out how to save up money so I can come see you, like, 25 times a year, and I was worried about leaving Rebe and the restaurant behind and...” he trails off, shaking his head and throwing Omar an accusatory glance. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Omar shrugs, his entire body tingling with the relief he feels, sinking further into Ander’s side. “Now you know how it feels.”

Ander barks a laugh as he lets go of Omar to stand in front of him, grabbing onto his collar firmly and walking them backwards. He leans forward to press a kiss to Omar’s lips, smiling when Omar grips his sleeves and kisses him back, leading them forward blindly and trying not to trip or slip on the snow.

They hear the faint echo of someone yelling “happy fucking New Year” in the distance, and Ander’s grin widens against Omar’s lips. Omar laughs lightly, leaning his forehead against Ander’s. 

Ander presses another kiss to his lips, then to his cheek, then to his neck and then to his lips again.

“Happy fucking New Year indeed.”


	17. XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Welcome home.”

It turns out, long-distance relationships aren’t that bad when the long-distance part has an expiry date.

* * *

“Seriously, kid, I can’t wait for you to be back here.”

Omar grins, watching Rebeka fiddle with the drawstrings of her hoodie on screen. He misses her so much. 

“Only a couple of months to go,” he tells her, pretending he doesn’t actually know that there are exactly 74 days left before he goes back to Madrid.

Rebeka smiles. “Are you excited?”

Omar exhales loudly, shaking his head. “You have no idea. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m sad I’m leaving New York and I’m gonna miss my friends and my apartment but...” he trails off, looking around him. He loves it here, but he’s ready to leave it behind. ”Fucking hell, I've never been this impatient for anything.”

Rebeka’s lips curl up at the corners, her face softening but her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief that Omar notices even through his phone screen. “I’m sure that has nothing at all to do with my really-really-hot flatmate.”

Omar grins. If there’s one thing he can count on, it’s that no matter how much time passes, Rebeka will never not consider Ander as the hottest piece of ass she’s ever seen.

“You do remember that I decided on going back before he showed up to New York,” he argues weakly, trying to convince her and himself that Ander isn’t the biggest factor in his decision.

Rebeka nods exaggeratedly, squinting her eyes and curling her lips in a fake smile. “Sure you did.”

Omar laughs, shaking his head lightly as he flips her off. Rebeka cackles loudly on his screen, blowing him a kiss.

“Like you wouldn’t be itching to see Samu if you two had to be separated by an ocean for six months,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes before he fixes his screen (and Rebeka) with an accusing look. “I still can’t believe I had to find out about that through Ander, by the way!”

Rebeka shrugs as she twists one of her golden hoop earrings, her little smile giving her away. “Ander wasn’t even supposed to find out, he just came home freakishly quietly one day and caught us making out. We couldn’t exactly deny it after that.” She squints lightly, her turn to look at Omar with accusatory eyes. “Besides, didn’t Ander use that as an excuse to finally talk to you? You should be thanking me.”

Omar snorts but before he can say anything, he hears a familiar voice speak off screen.

“I would’ve found another excuse to talk to him.”

Omar’s lips curl up on their own accord, watching as Rebeka looks up from her computer for a moment before she scoots over on the couch, a sleepy Ander throwing himself next to her.

“‘Morning, sunshine,” Rebeka teases, watching him in amusement.

Ander smiles as he rubs his eyes, leaning his head affectionately against her shoulder for a second before he turns to look at the screen. He’s got pillow marks on his face, hair sticking up all over the place and eyes puffy from sleep. Ander’s smile widens when he takes Omar in, and yeah, Omar misses him so fucking much.

“Morning.”

Omar grins back, unable to contain himself. “Hey.”

Rebeka groans as she rolls her eyes. “Ugh, you two are disgusting.”

“We literally just said hey,” Omar points out.

“I know, but I keep forgetting how much of a hearteyes emoji Ander actually is around you.” Omar barks a laugh and Ander shakes his head in amusement, side-eyeing her.

“I find it hilarious that you’re judging me.”

Rebeka raises her eyebrows defensively. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Ander squints thoughtfully, pursing his lips and tapping his forehead lightly. “If I remember correctly, you dressed up like a princess to impress Samu.”

“Belle,” Omar jumps in, deciding it’s very necessary to share his Disney knowledge in that moment. “She dressed up like Belle.”

Ander turns to his screen for a moment to shoot him a small smile and a silent thank you for the assist, before turning a seriously thoughtful face to Rebeka. “Belle.”

Rebeka doesn’t hesitate for a second before punching Ander in the shoulder, earning a yelp and a laugh out of him as he starts to rub his shoulder.

“Okay you can fuck right off with that,” she mutters darkly. “I changed into a samurai-wielding assassin, like, five minutes later.”

“Sure you did.” Rebeka punches him again. Ander groans as he rubs his shoulder harder. “Will you stop doing that?!”

“Then stop being a dick to me!” Rebeka turns back to her screen. “Omar, tell your boyfriend I changed my costume!”

Omar winces. “Sorry, no can do. Aside from when we first got there, I’ve blanked that party out of my memory.”

Now it’s Ander’s turn to wince. “That’s my fault. I was being a total ass on that day.”

Omar shrugs. “You’re still an ass.”

Ander huffs a laugh while Rebeka types something furiously into her phone.

“Speaking of ass,” she mumbles as she sets her phone aside, “Samu’s awake.”

Ander raises his eyebrows in a slightly judgmental look. ”Is he seriously texting you from your bedroom right now?”

Rebeka gets up. “Yes.” She sets the laptop in Ander’s lap, peeking her head into the frame of the screen. “Omar, I love you. I miss you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Excuse me, are you actually leaving me to go get some dick?”

Rebeka smiles. “You bet your ass I am.” She blows him a kiss and disappears. “Love you!”

Omar laughs as he hears the sound of a door shutting loudly after a moment.

Ander shakes his head lightly, his expression amused as he settles back into the couch comfortably. His lips spread in a small, comfortable smile as he looks at Omar.

Omar’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. 74 days. Only 74 days to go. 

He clears his throat, trying to keep things light. “How bad is it? Are they sickeningly all over each other all day?”

Ander shrugs. “I mean, yeah, pretty much. Samu’s especially whipped. He’s making up for all those years he was an idiot, I guess. Which, good for him,” he adds, forehead wrinkling.

“And good for Rebe,” Omar interjects. “She sure as fuck deserves it.”

Ander nods with a small smile before he bites the inside of his cheek. “It just makes me miss you a lot, that’s all.”

Omar’s heart catches in his throat again, his face crumpling into a soft and longing look. “I miss you, too. The apartment feels a lot emptier without you and Guzmán.”

Ander smiles. “Less than three months to go.”

It feels so long right now, but Omar musters up a smile anyway, putting on a brave face. He’s had to wait two years. A couple of months won’t kill him.

“I can’t wait to make people roll their eyes and cringe when they see us.”

Ander’s face lights up, an amused laugh bubbling up his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

* * *

Nadia is the first to leave, mid-June. She has a job interview in London and wedding preparations for the next summer.

Nadia cries, Omar cries, Lu cries. It doesn’t matter how many times Nadia reminds them (and herself) that they’ll be seeing each other in Spain in less than a month, they still get embarrassingly emotional when she leaves for the airport. 

Lu leaves for Mexico the week after. She’s visiting family before she flies back to Spain. She’s already accepted a job in London because apparently she and Nadia have decided they’re never going to be apart ever again, even though Nadia will very likely be married this time next year.

Omar cries. Lu laughs. Omar laughs. Lu cries. They’re a mess.

On Omar’s last night in New York, Fae closes the pub early and shows up at the flat with Tristan and Chris in tow. They spend the night on the fire escape, drinking and dancing and laughing.

Omar makes them promise to visit Madrid, and Chris drives them to the airport at the crack of dawn.

Fae cries. Tristan cries. Chris cries.

Omar laughs at them even while he cries, too.

* * *

_“Are you sure you don’t wanna get smashed? We can call Samu and ask him to come too.”_

_Omar looks up at Rebeka, a small, sad smile playing on his face. He’s going to miss her._

_“Nah, I don’t wanna be hungover on my flight tomorrow,” he tells her. “Besides, I was just over at Samu’s, and as far as I remember, you’re not even really talking to him.”_

_“I mean, I’m not...” Rebeka trails off, stuffing her hands in her pockets and shrugging lightly. “But the stuff we’ve been through... I don’t know man, it gives you a little perspective. And right now that means that if you wanna spend your last night in Madrid getting smashed with your friends, then I can put my anger with Samu aside for a night.”_

_“And I love you for it,” he tells her honestly. “But I think I’m just gonna go home and try to get some sleep.”_

_Rebeka nods with understanding, reaching out a hand to grab Omar’s collar and pulling him in for a hug. She wraps her arms tightly around his neck and holds him close, and for a moment, Omar feels entirely overwhelmed with love._

_“Don’t forget me when you’re out there in the big city.”_

_Omar is caught slightly off guard by the tears that pool in his eyes, nearly choking on his next word. “Never.”_

_When they finally pull away, Rebeka wipes her tears and then Omar’s, leaning close to press a kiss to his cheek and then waving her hand vaguely in the air._ _“Okay, go, now, before I tie you to a chair in my kitchen and make you miss your flight.”_

_Omar lets out a watery laugh, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he nods, a few more tears slipping out._

_He holds a hand up as a goodbye, looking at Rebeka for a moment longer, trying to memorize every feature of her. It’s stupid, because they have phones and pictures and video calls, so it’s not like he’ll never see her again. But still. He wants to remember her like that._

_He finally forces himself to turn away, crossing the lawn to find his bike and hopping on it._

_He turns to look at Rebeka one more time before he cycles away._

_It’s only when he’s stopped at a traffic light 20 minutes later that he realizes that he’s not going home._

_He had every intention of doing that, so he’s not really sure how he ended up on Ander’s street. But there he is, only a couple of houses away from the place he called home only a few months ago._

_Azucena’s car is in the driveway, as is Ander’s bike. And if that’s not enough to reassure him that Ander is, in fact, home, then the light in his bedroom should be enough of a clue._

_But it doesn’t matter if he’s home, because Omar isn’t about to go in._

_Instead, he gets off his bike, setting it down on the ground gently and plopping down on the sidewalk next to it._

_He pulls out his cigarette pack from his pocket and props his forearms over his knees, lighting himself one._

_He sure as hell hopes none of Ander’s neighbours decide to wander the streets, because he looks hella shady right now. Most of them know him, of course, so when he’s not overly worried about them calling the cops or anything, but still. He doesn’t really want anyone to see him wallowing in misery in front of his ex’s house._

_He doesn’t do much, only sitting and smoking and staring and thinking about all the times he and Ander walked up the driveway together, or snuck inside drunk and high and giggly, trying to keep it together, or the times Omar would come home from work late at night to find Ander waiting for him on the front steps._

_He picks up his phone after some time, wondering if he could text Ander. To ask him to come outside, or meet him in the driveway one last time._

_He wants to, of course, but then another thought hits him. What if Ander’s not alone, right now? What if Alexís is in there with him? What if he moved in? What if the lights are on in Ander’s bedroom this late because they’re together?_

_He turns his attention to the driveway again, looking for any clues. There are no foreign cars or bikes parked in there, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve Ubered here or gotten a lift from someone. Maybe he lives close enough that he walked._

_Omar looks up to Ander’s windows again, only to notice shadows moving around the room. Yeah, he definitely needs to get out of here now._

_He has to let Ander go._

_The thought alone is enough to cause stabbing flashes of pain to travel though Omar’s body, but he tries to ignore them, to not think about the way his throat and palms and sides and stomach and knees and heart hurt. He pushes himself off the sidewalk and shoves his phone back into his pocket, straddling his bike and getting ready to leave._

_It’s another few minutes before he can get his body to cooperate, finally taking one last look at the house he used to call home and riding away into the night._

* * *

Ander’s face immediately melts into a huge grin when he spots Omar coming through the Arrivals zone, and though Omar is bone-tired, sleepy and frankly still a little hungover, he nearly runs the rest of the way and throws himself in Ander’s arms.

Ander holds him for the longest time, only pulling away to kiss him before he wraps his arms tight around him, and Omar allows himself to fully melt into the embrace, feeling an all-consuming love course through his entire body.

Ander helps him with one of his bags as they make their way out to the parking lot.

They stash his bags into the trunk of Guzmán’s borrowed car, and Omar is about to round the car and get in the passenger seat when Ander reaches out for his arm, pulling him into another kiss. Omar smiles against his boyfriend’s lips, his mind going blank and his entire body consumed by the boy around him.

He doesn’t know how long they kiss for, just that they’re both smiling and breathless and blissful after, making up for all those months of being away from one another. Omar wraps his arms around Ander’s neck once more and squeezes him before pressing a hard kiss to his jaw and pulling away.

Ander looks at him with a small smile, hand still on his shoulder.

“Yeah, we’re definitely gonna make everyone gag,” Omar mutters, but he can’t hide the happiness in his voice.

Ander barks a loud laugh that echoes around the parking lot before they let go of each other to get in the car.

Omar is overcome with a feeling of calm when they round the corner to his old neighbourhood, his face lighting up when they pull up in front of his parents’ shop.

Ander looks at him from the driver’s seat, reaching out a hand to his neck before thinking better of it and going for the headrest instead.

It’s then that Omar realizes that Ander still isn’t sure how comfortable he is at his old neighbourhood, in front of his parents’ shop.

He smiles as he leans his head until his cheek is on Ander’s wrist, watching as Ander relaxes his hand and moves it to fiddle with the short hairs on the back of Omar’s neck.

“I’ll come pick you up in the morning,” Ander mumbles softly. “Rebe and Guzmán have planned a big lunch at the restaurant so they’ll kill me if you’re not there.”

Omar smiles as he nods before a thought comes to him. “Actually, could you come down with me for a minute right now? There’s something I gotta do.”

Ander frowns lightly, hesitating for just a second before he nods.

They’ve barely made it into the shop when Nadia comes barrelling out of the backroom and straight into Omar’s arms.

Omar laughs as he catches her, nearly tumbling but managing to keep his footing with a little help from Ander’s steadying hands on his back.

Ander drops his hands when Omar’s parents approach, giving them a little distance when they both wrap their arms around their kids, joining the family hug.

Omar doesn’t remember the last time he felt so warm and happy and safe in this place.

Nadia finally wiggles her way out of the hug and moves to greet Ander with a huge smile on her face. Omar watches fondly from his mother’s embrace as Nadia kisses Ander hello, squeezing his arm gently and standing by his side.

It’s only when his dad finally lets go of Omar, pressing one last kiss to his temple, that they all finally turn their attention to the boy next to Nadia. 

Ander smiles hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable with all the sudden attention on him, but Omar walks over and takes his place next to his boyfriend. 

“Hello,” Imán finally greets him, a smile on her face.

“Mum, dad, this is Ander,” Omar introduces, much to everyone’s confusion.

He can feel Ander and Nadia staring at him with equally puzzled looks while his parents nod, trying to keep up.

“Yes, son, we’ve met him,” Yusef assures. “He’s visited with Guzmán before. And he’s a loyal customer of the shop.”

Omar hums. “I know. But this is Ander,” he pauses, reaching out a hand to thread his fingers with Ander’s, ignoring the way Ander’s breath catches audibly in his throat at the gesture. “My boyfriend.” For a moment, nothing happens. And then for another very short moment, Omar tenses up, and Ander tenses up, and Nadia tenses up, and Imán tenses up. And most importantly, Yusef tenses up. Omar swallows thickly, his words a little breathy when he speaks. “You once told me you wanted to meet my boyfriend.”

And just like that, his father’s whole stance transforms with a small nod, his body relaxing. It’s like he’s just reminded himself that he’s okay with this now, that he’s learning to accept his son, just the way that he is. That it doesn’t matter what age-old rules tell him, he wants his son to be happy.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Ander,” Yusef says, a small, hesitant smile on his face as his eyes flicker from Omar to Ander to their joined hands.

Ander nods and Nadia smiles next to them, but before either of them can say anything, Imán walks forward, the smile on her face decidedly big, standing closer to them now. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Ander.” Omar doesn’t miss the affection in her tone. “Guzmán is coming over for dinner tomorrow night,” she adds after a moment, her eyes flickering to Nadia before she looks back at her son and his boyfriend. “We would love it if you could come with him so we can get to know you properly.” She looks back, a pair of hopeful eyes trained on her husband. “Right, Yusef?”

Omar’s dad only takes a moment to register her words before he nods immediately, the smile on his face a little less constricted now. “Yes, of course.”

Ander’s lips curl up in a small, hesitant smile, his gaze travelling to Omar for just a brief second. “Thank you, I’ll be there.” Omar squeezes Ander’s hand, not sure if he’s giving him reassurance or taking it from him, watching as Nadia’s lips spread into a wide, toothy grin. “Okay,” Ander says after a moment, probably a little uncomfortable with the sudden silence, “I think I better take off and leave you guys with Omar now...”

Imán nods warmly. “Thank you for bringing our son home.”

Ander shakes his head, his eyebrows disappearing in his hair.

“Oh, I didn’t,” he mumbles. “This was all him. I mean, I wanted him to come home a long time ago, in fact I never wanted him to leave,” he rambles. “But he decided on coming back all by himself.”

The silence that falls after Ander’s word vomit is deafening, at least until Omar snorts audibly as his mother stares blankly at Ander, Nadia trying to curb her amused smile next to him. Even Yusef can’t quite keep his mouth from curving up, watching his son’s boyfriend with slight exasperation.

Ander stares awkwardly for a second, squeezing Omar’s hand for help.

“I meant from the airport,” Imán mumbles after a moment, “but that’s good to know.”

Omar snorts a lot louder this time and Nadia full-on laughs as Ander winces, smiling.

“Mama, baba, we’re just gonna walk Ander to his car,” Nadia says after a moment, tapping Ander on the shoulder and guiding him towards the door. Yusef and Imán both smile, still looking highly amused, before they both nod and disappear into the house. “This takes me back,” Nadia mutters, shaking her head and crossing her arms in front of her chest as Ander pulls the car door open.

“But hey, at least you didn’t mention all your Muslim friends this time,” Omar chimes in, earning a laugh out of Nadia and an eyeroll out of Ander.

“Can’t make any promises for tomorrow,” Ander mutters darkly, rubbing his face tiredly.

“Yeah, but Guzmán’s gonna be here tomorrow. And trust me, I love my fiancé, but there’s no one more unintentionally offensive than he is.”

Ander snorts loudly, smiling fondly at Nadia. “Oof, don’t I know it.”

Nadia chuckles lightly before she whispers a low “bye” and disappears back inside the shop.

Ander stands in the open door, smiling lightly. Omar can see the hesitation on his face, the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not he gets to kiss Omar goodbye.

Omar makes the decision for him, closing the distance and pressing a short kiss to his lips.

Ander’s lips spread in a wide smile as he clutches Omar’s sleeve before he pushes him away and gets in the car.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ander nods, smiling at Omar through the open window. “Yep. And Omar?”

“Yeah?” 

“Welcome home.”

* * *

Turns out, apartment hunting in Madrid isn’t as easy as it was in New York. Or maybe that’s just because Omar doesn’t have the master negotiator that is Lucrecia Montesinos with him here.

Point is, three weeks into his search for a place to stay at other than his parents’ house, Omar is just about ready to throw in the towel and accept that he might be living with his parents for a while.

He makes it to the restaurant around lunch that day, dragging his feet and pretty much feeling like the world is conspiring against him.

He finds Ander and Rebeka on the terrace, sharing a cigarette around a couple of coffees.

Omar musters up a smile when Ander meets his eyes, ruffling Rebe’s hair and throwing himself in the chair next to his boyfriend.

Ander looks at him curiously, a tentative smile on his face. “Hey.”

Omar looks up at his boyfriend, his features softening and his heart skipping in his chest. It’s so cliché that he already feels better by just being next to him, so he doesn’t linger on that thought for too long, but he does lean in closer to press a kiss to his lips. “Hey.”

Rebeka peers at him when he settles back into his seat, watching as Omar reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table and pops one into his mouth a little too aggressively. “I take it by your sunny disposition apartment hunting didn’t go great?”

Omar groans, lighting up his cigarette. He throws the lighter back on the table before meeting Rebeka’s eyes.

“The first two I checked out today were shit,” he tells her. “The third one is really nice, but it’s over my budget and the landlord isn’t willing to budge. And it’s too far out of town to be worth that much.” He groans again, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I don’t know, it feels like I’m never gonna find a place at this point.”

Rebeka doesn’t say anything, but Omar doesn’t miss the pointed look she shoots Ander, nor does he miss the minute nod that Ander gives her.

“I have to go check on Pablo in the kitchen for a bit,” Rebeka mutters, stubbing out her cigarette brashly and leaving them to go inside.

Omar stares after her curiously for a moment before he turns his attention to Ander. “What was that about?” Ander pulls his lower lip between his teeth in the way he does when he’s mulling something over. “Ander?”

Ander finally looks at Omar, seemingly having made up his mind. “Why don’t you move in with me?”

Omar’s frown deepens, taken by surprise. “Um, because you don’t live alone?”

Ander shakes his head. “Rebe’s more than fine with it. In fact, she really wants you to move in.”

Omar feels a surge of hope rush through him for a split second, before he’s overwhelmed by all the reasons why this is a bad idea. 

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

“I don’t know, man...” he trails off, trying to phrase his thoughts in a way that won’t offend or hurt Ander. “The last time I moved in so fast after we got together...”

“That was different, Omar,” Ander jumps in before Omar can continue, looking earnestly at him. “We were kids, I was a dumbass, we were dealing with traumatic, life-changing events, you were struggling with coming out... I could find you a million and one reasons why it was a terrible idea at the time, but it’s not the same now.” He says it with such conviction that Omar allows the hope within him to grow. “I know what I want now, and that’s you.”

“I want you, too,” Omar tells him immediately, a natural reaction, because it’s true and honest and he wants Ander to know that despite his reluctance, he doesn’t doubt them anymore. He takes a puff from his cigarette, the bright sun causing him to squint and crumple his forehead as he looks at Ander. “But the last time we were together, I found myself out on my ass one day without even understanding why.”

He doesn’t like remembering that day, nor does he like reminding Ander of it. But they both know now that if they want to make it, they can’t hold back when it comes to the stuff that hurts, especially not the stuff that kept them out of each others’ lives for the better part of two years.

Ander winces lightly. “I’m sorry about that.”

Omar shakes his head, leaning forward to rest a hand on Ander’s neck.

“Hey,” he mumbles, squeezing lightly until Ander looks up at him again. “No, we’re over that. I don’t need you to apologize. I’m just telling you why I’m worried about this.”

“And you have every right to be, but we’re nowhere near where we were back then,” Ander argues calmly. “I don’t want you to go anywhere, and anyway, you’ll be paying rent here so it’ll be your apartment too. And I can’t kick you out from your own apartment,” he points out simply. He pauses for a moment, tilting his head to nuzzle Omar’s hand before he continues. “It just makes sense. The apartment is huge, and Samu just moved in so the rent will be split four-way, which amounts to way less than your budget, so you can properly save up some money. You’ll be living with your best friend in a really nice apartment, and, like, honestly, I don’t know about Samu as a flatmate, but Rebe is a riot.” Ander smiles to himself, and Omar can’t help but mirror his expression. “And you’ll have your own room,” he continues. “I mean, you’ll be sharing it with me, but it’s still a room with an actual bed and a fully-functioning lockable door. And it’s close to your parents place, so you can visit them whenever. And who knows, maybe they can visit us, if they want to.”

“That’s...”

“And I know it doesn’t have a really cool fire escape,” Ander continues. “But it has a small balcony and an actual office which we never use so you can turn into your workshop or whatever. You can use it to Skype with your editor or draw on the walls or work quietly and...” he trails off, finally stopping long enough to look at Omar, his face falling slightly. “And you don’t have to move in if you don’t want to, and judging by the look on your face, you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know it’s an option.”

“No,” Omar shakes his head immediately, trying to make Ander understand. “No, I really, really, _really_ want to. I’m just also really scared.”

Ander sighs. “I know, but if this is gonna work at all, you’re really gonna have to start trusting me at some point.”

“I do trust you,” Omar spills out, leaning forward and resting his palms on either side of Ander’s face. He leans close to press a small kiss to his lips. “I trust you, Ander,” he repeats, trying to convey the sincerity in his words. “I’m just carrying a lot of baggage.”

This time, it’s Ander who closes the distance, kissing him lightly before touching their foreheads briefly. “I know.”

Omar takes a deep breath, keeping his hands firmly on Ander’s face as he leans back to peer up at him, a small smile on his face. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Ander’s eyebrows disappear in his hairline, breath shallowing out. “What?”

Omar rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you changed your mind already?”

Ander huffs a laugh, punching Omar’s shoulder lightly and watching as Omar settles back into his seat.

“Asshole,” he mutters, but Omar doesn’t miss the affection in his eyes, nor the way his fingers grip his arm. “You seriously wanna move in?”

Omar shrugs. “You just spent the past five minutes on a soliloquy about why I should.”

Ander grimaces. “What the fuck’s a soliloquy?”

“And they say Las Encinas has the best education,” Omar mutters under his breath, laughing when Ander punches him again, but this time Omar catches his wrist and pulls him over for another kiss.

They only resurface a couple of minutes later when Rebeka’s voice filters through. 

“So? Can I call you roomie yet?”

Omar pulls away from Ander, a big, bright, dumb smile on his face. He’s not even ashamed of it, really.

He nods, laughing when Rebeka howls and throws her arms around him.

Turns out, apartment hunting in Madrid is actually better than New York.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh god, Carla’s gonna move in too, isn’t she?”

It’s not everyday that Ander manages to take Omar completely by surprise, but on that Wednesday afternoon, when Omar gets home, he finds a thick package on the floor in front of their front door.

Omar picks it up and eyes it curiously, turning the plush envelope in his hands, trying to figure out what it could be. He finds Ander’s name and their address on the back, so he tucks the package under his armpit and unlocks the front door.

Ander is sprawled like a starfish on their bed, staring at the ceiling, and either he doesn’t hear Omar come in or he just doesn’t care because he doesn’t move at all. Omar quirks his eyebrows before he toes his shoes off and crawls on the bed, stopping to hover over Ander’s head.

“What are you staring at?”

Ander’s face is immediately taken over by a giant, soft, sleepy smile, his hands automatically coming up to cradle Omar’s head and pull him into a kiss. Omar obliges, smiling into it, before he pulls away and sits himself into a more comfortable position next to his boyfriend.

Ander does the same, groggily sitting up next to him. “I don’t know. I took a 3-hour nap and now I don’t know who, what or where I am.”

Omar chuckles lightly, wrapping an arm around Ander’s neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek before pulling away. Ander whines in protest under his breath, scooting closer and leaning his head against Omar’s shoulder, even as the latter reaches for the package he left on the floor next to the bed.

“Found this in front of the door for you,” Omar tells him as he throws the package into Ander’s lap. “What did you order this time?”

Ander’s entire face lights up as he straightens up further, turning the package several times and staring at it in awe. “I can’t believe they came that fast,” he marvels, finally opening the thick envelope and pulling out a stack of thin magazines.

Not just any magazines, Omar realizes. Several copies of the two newest issues of his comics.

Omar’s brow furrows, something warm surging within him. “You ordered my comics?”

Ander stares back at him, forehead wrinkled lightly. “Of course I did.”

Omar doesn’t really know how to react, so he stares at him in awe for a few seconds more before he fingers the magazines in Ander’s lap. “And you need... six copies of each? You know I get them for free, right?”

Ander rolls his eyes. “Getting them for free defeats the purpose of actually supporting your work, dumbass,” Ander says matter-of-factly, like it’s the most obvious thing. “And seven copies, actually. One for my Omar collection, one for my mum who nearly killed me for not getting her some when I was in New York and made me swear to get her the new issues when I ordered them, one for Samu because he’s a nerd and actually wants to read that shit, one for Rebe because I told her about how Lu and Nadia were hanging them up in your old apartment in New York and she’ll be damned if she lets Lu be a better flatmate than her - her words, not mine -, one for Nadia because she made me promise to pile them up for her until her next visit, one for your parents because they want to add them to their Omar pile, and one for the restaurant’s reading corner.” He shrugs, like this is all completely normal and Omar’s heart didn’t just grow tenfold. “Seven copies.” He turns his attention to the pile in his lap, separating the two issues and stacking them up in piles of two. “I didn’t get you one,” he adds after a moment, “because as you so nicely pointed it out, you get them for free.”

Omar nods mutely, unable to really say anything, his heart jammed in his throat. He doesn’t ever doubt his love for Ander, but it’s on days like this that he remembers exactly why he was dumb enough to fall in love with a guy who catfished him after kissing him, like, three times.

He sinks further into the bed, watching as Ander rifles through one of the magazines, his smile growing brighter when he finds Omar’s original comic.

“You’re still secretly a sappy little shit,” Omar mumbles for lack of anything better to say, but he leans closer, pressing a soft kiss to the base of Ander’s jaw.

Ander’s lips quirk up on one side before he throws him a glance and scoots even closer to him, propping himself against Omar’s side and turning his attention back to the magazine. “Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

* * *

“I think we should open a nightclub.”

It’s 11 in the evening on a Sunday, and Omar is currently sitting on the ground with his back against the couch, laptop propped on his legs as he works on the final touches of a freelance illustration he has to submit.

Ander and Samuel are sharing the couch behind him, Samuel poring over some thick law textbook while Ander scrolls idly through his phone, one of his hands absently playing with Omar’s hair.

The three of them look up at Rebeka’s words, Ander’s hand freezing momentarily in Omar’s hair as they watch her plop down on the floor in front of them, squaring her legs in front of her.

For a moment, none of them speak, the three boys staring at her expectantly, but when she doesn’t seem in a hurry to say anything, Samuel finally speaks. “I’m assuming you’re not talking to me or Omar?”

Rebeka groans. “Of course not,” she dismisses, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “Although,” she adds after a moment, “we might need your help with the contracts and Omar will probably help us with the branding and all that, but no, for now I’m talking to my business partner.”

Ander straightens up behind Omar, his hand falling from Omar’s head to his shoulder. “And, um, I’m your business partner?” Omar snorts loudly as Rebeka rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath. “Hold up, I’m sorry,” Ander says, his voice louder, “did you say you want us to open a nightclub together?”

“Yes.” Ander opens his mouth, probably to protest or argue or tell Rebeka how insane her idea sounds, but she speaks before he can. “Okay, before you tell me all the reasons why this might not be the best idea, hear me out.” Omar smiles, very much amused by how well Rebeka knows Ander. He was most definitely about to tell her how much of a shit idea this was. Instead, Ander relaxes a fragment but keeps his hand on Omar’s shoulder as he nods at their flatmate. “You and I have been talking about investing in a new business for a while now, and I think a nightclub is the perfect project. Yes, I know it sounds insane, but we haven’t had a place like that to go to since Barceló closed down for, you know…” she trails off. “Not that any of us would’ve been emotionally or physically capable of being there if it was still open...” she rambles for a moment before she shakes her head. “Point is, we deserve a new where Nadia and Lu and Carla can go to when they’re in town without being traumatized. A place we can go to on Friday night and not feel like we want to punch everyone because the music is horrible and the drinks are disgusting and overpriced. Our place, our music, our drinks, our rules.”

Omar knows Ander is about to argue all the reasons why this wouldn’t work, but he has to admit that he himself is excited about the prospect of having somewhere to go when he feels like having a night out. Not that Madrid doesn’t have a billion options, but they haven’t found anything they like to go to quite as regularly as they did to Club Barceló.

True to form, Ander sighs. “Rebe, this all sounds great in theory. Of course I wanna open a nightclub and play music I like, but we don’t fucking know how to run a nightclub.”

“We didn’t know how to run a restaurant either and yet we still bought one fresh out of school with nothing but some inherited money and the need to not work for someone else,” Rebeka argues. “And look at us now.”

“It’s not the sa—“

“No, seriously, Ander,” Rebeka continues. “Before we bought the place, La Cabaña was a shithole where only fancy rich kids and really old people came to eat. And we turned it into a fucking hot spot. And it’s not exactly a prime location, yet it’s full every single day. People literally go out of their way to go to our restaurant. You think if we put the same energy and ideas into a nightclub, people won’t be lining up outside?”

“I’d want in,” Omar says before he can stop himself, mildly excited about potentially helping Ander and Rebeka open a nightclub. Ander squeezes Omar’s shoulder, and when he cranes his neck to look at him, Omar finds his boyfriend staring back with mild uncertainty. “I’m just saying,” Omar mutters. “And I can help you out behind the bar, at the beginning,” he adds. “Until you find the right people. Or even help train them for you.”

Rebeka smiles almost triumphantly, clearly very excited to have Omar on board.

“There are a lot of licenses and checks to get for this kind of place,” Samuel mumbles, looking back at his textbook. “But it’s nothing I can’t manage. So if you want to do it, I can take care of all of that for you.”

“Yes!” Rebeka yells excitedly, straightening up so she’s on her knees, looking at Ander with almost pleading eyes. “So? Are you in?”

Ander sighs, his hand completely slacking on Omar’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but when Omar turns to look at him again, he doesn’t miss the tiny, tiny, _tiny_ smile he’s trying so hard to curb. “Fuck it. Let’s open a fucking nightclub.”

* * *

Ten months later, Omar finds himself standing behind the bar of a packed nightclub in the middle of Madrid, watching as the new bartenders fumble their way to serving all the people at the bar, occasionally spilling a little too much alcohol on the counter, awkwardly flirting back with customers drunk enough to express interest, and generally trying not to mess up their orders too much.

He smiles to himself as his eyes travel around the nightclub. K.O., Rebeka decided to called it, which seems fitting for her. All of their friends made it to the opening, even Carla, which made for some slight awkwardness with Samuel and Rebeka, but as he watches the three of them on the dance floor, Rebeka sandwiched between Samuel and Carla, Omar isn’t so sure they really mind her being back all that much.

“We’re gonna wake up to find Carla in our apartment tomorrow morning, aren’t we?”

It’s Ander, practically reading Omar’s mind as he comes up to stand next to him, gaze directed towards the trio grinding on the dance floor. 

“Yep,” Omar confirms, smiling as he bumps his shoulder with Ander’s. He bites the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “Think shit will hit the fan if we don’t stop it?”

Ander shrugs. “Nah...” he trails off, his lips pulling up on one corner. “Rebe deserves to have all of her fantasies comes true, even ones that involve _La Marquesita_.”

Omar blanches. “Oh god, Carla’s gonna move in too, isn’t she?”

Ander cracks a laugh as he throws an arm around his boyfriend, highly amused.

“Our flat is as big as her guest bedroom, she wouldn’t know how to survive there,” he reassures.

Omar laughs. His eyes drift to his sister, Guzmán’s arms firmly around her as they jump around with Valerio, while Lu and Christian make out a little further away.

Omar shakes his head, turning to look at his boyfriend. “You have a nightclub.”

“I have a nightclub,” Ander echoes, paling slightly.

“When the fuck did we adult so hard? I mean, you own _two_ businesses, my sister and your best friend are getting married in two months, Lu is making out with Christian, Carla is more interested in Rebe than she is in Samu... have I mentioned Samu is a fucking lawyer now?”

“You published your first solo comic book,” Ander chimes in, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “I’d say that’s the most impressive one.”

Omar smiles bashfully, his cheeks flushing against his own accord. “It’s not, but thank you.”

Ander smiles, leaning in for a kiss.

“It so is,” he mumbles against Omar’s lips. 

Omar feels his heart skip several beats, but he pulls away anyway, raising his eyebrows at Ander. “You. Own. A. Fucking. Nightclub.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s a little impressive too,” Ander gives in, probably just to shut Omar up and pull him in for another kiss. Omar pushes away just before their lips meet, earning a groan out of him. “What now?” Ander asks, clearly frustrated. “Why aren’t you letting me kiss you?”

Omar laughs, his heart jumping to his throat again. His lips curl up in a wicked grin as he peers up at Ander. 

“Let’s go there,” he tells him, nodding his head in the general direction of their friends. “I wanna kiss you in front of everyone is this whole fucking club.”

Ander’s face is taken over by a huge smile as he stares at his boyfriend almost in awe. He leans down to press a kiss to Omar’s lips before pulling away and locking their hands together. 

He guides them to the centre of the dance floor where their friends are gathered. Guzmán only lets go of Nadia to throw his arms around both of them and start jumping around, while Rebeka momentarily lets go of Samuel and Carla to pass a bottle of champagne to the boys. Omar takes a sip and passes the bottle to Ander.

“WE FUCKING DID IT!” Rebeka yells as Ander drinks up, laughing loudly as he hands her the bottle back. She throws her arms around both of them, pressing sloppy kisses to their faces before turning her attention back to the others.

Omar and Ander smile widely as they watch their friends dance around them for a short moment, before Omar’s attention is taken by Ander again.

It’s all so fucking familiar and Omar knows what’s coming, but when he presses his hands to Ander’s face and meets his lips, it still feels as new and exciting and life-changing as it did the first time and the second time and the third time and the fourth time.

And judging by the way Ander kisses him back, fierce and gentle and hungry and just so fucking in love, Omar thinks maybe he feels the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's it. Thank you so so so much to everyone who read, commented, kudo'ed and reblogged on tumblr <3 I hope you guys liked the ending!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm soyunputobumeran on tumblr :)


End file.
